The Flash 2055
by Neon Majestic
Summary: The Central-Keystone area has had no protector for years since the near-apocalypse of '09. But the legacy was never truly dead...and now, as one youth discovers and dons the outward appearance to defend the twin cities, he will learn the meaning behind the legacy. DCAU setting, one year after "Epilogue." RESUBMITTED. Chapter 15, "Cold Turkey," now up!
1. Rebirth of the Lightning

**Prologue**

_Knock, knock._ "Director?"

"Come in."

The bespectacled man, clad in a dark blue suit with a black tie, entered the room and at once beheld the darkness it was shrouded in. "Sir…he's arrived."

"Has he, now?" The man to whom the announcement was made sat at an oak-carved desk, his face partially obscured by the darkness of the room, yet his deep, commanding voice bore strongly in contrast to the lack of light. "Very well. Show our visitor in, please."

"Yes, sir." The blue-suited man nodded once before turning and heading out of the room, though he left the door open.

The man at the desk did not move from his seat, but waited patiently. A short moment later, his patience was rewarded as footsteps echoed outside the office door…then the footsteps were accompanied by the sight of a tall, dignified-looking man clad in a brown business suit with a matching long coat. The newcomer himself had sand-brown hair that was slightly graying at the temples, and a few age-lines across his brow and cheeks, but otherwise he bore himself with a calm personal décor that few men in his role in this world could pull off without appearing scripted.

"Glad to have you here," the director addressed his guest, standing from his chair as he spoke.

"All things considered," the visitor replied.

"True. Please, have a seat." The director gestured to the only other chair in view, a little off to the side of his desk.

"Thank you, but I prefer to remain standing. My business here will be brief." The newcomer's face was calm and devoid of any emotion, although his voice rang straight to the point.

"As you like." The director sat back down. "Getting straight to the point…you've always been like that."

"As have you," returned the newcomer. "Now, then, Director. We understand that you have been working on a…project…for the past twenty or so years…"

"Twenty-four, to be exact, at the behest of the previous director and with the sanction of the President of the United States himself," the other man replied. "They felt that there was a need for this project, in the interest of both national security and global protection from outside attacks. You should know that such things are…distressingly commonplace."

"Yet this project was begun without _our_ knowledge or sanction. Just as the 'Batman Beyond' project was previously done, clandestine." Again the visitor's face betrayed no emotion.

"With the best of intentions, of course," the director said casually. "And as the 'Batman Beyond' project was started with the betterment of the world in mind, so, too, have we worked on this project. Millions have been funneled into making this work, with failures carefully corrected as time went by…and now, the world will be made all the better for it."

"So you say."

For the first time, from the shadows hiding his face, the director's smirk became visible at the sound of his caller's deadpan response. "You _do_ remember the near-apocalypse of '09, yes? Many of your colleagues lost a lot in that incident…"

"…including their lives. Yes. I know. I was there." Still the visitor's face bore no emotion, but now a scowl could be heard in his tone.

"Then you will understand why this project, as well as the 'Batman Beyond' project, had their genesis. New heroes spring up in every generation…but some can never be replaced by birth or natural selection." The director leaned back in his chair. "Which is where _we_ come in. We make sure those legends never truly die, even if their bearers do."

"By playing God?" the other man asked, still with the scowl in his tone.

"Please. I'm not so haughty to try such a thing…even if any of my predecessors probably were. I'm a man of faith, myself." The director pointed toward a nearby bookshelf, on top of which a large black Bible rested. "I read that book at least once a day. If I didn't, I'd probably go do something utterly stupid that I'd regret for the rest of my natural life. If I didn't, maybe then I _would_ feel inclined to play God, to upset the natural progression of things."

"Good for you," said the visitor flatly. "Returning to the matter at hand…"

"Yes, of course." The director now rested his elbows on the desk and crossed his fingers together. "What, exactly, do you want from us? For the project to be stopped? If so, you're a little late for that. It's already completed—and, again, with presidential sanction."

"I gathered as much. What I want to know is, what exactly is the project geared toward…if, as you say, it doesn't involve 'playing God'?" the visitor asked.

"To put it very simply…" The director tapped the tips of his index fingers together. "It's a suit."

"…a suit."

"Yes. A suit." The director nodded. "Made with the latest available nanotechnology of the decade, not unlike the costume worn by Gotham City's modern Dark Knight…only, this one has something that that suit does not."

"Which would be…" the other man paused.

Again the director smirked. "Upgraded parts."

Now a visible sign of expression came over the visitor's face—he cocked an eyebrow slightly. "You're making a new Bat-suit?"

"No, no. That would mean training someone to be a new Batman…and the one Gotham's got right now is doing a good enough job as it is. Why fix what's not broken?" said the director. "No…I'm merely giving a revival to another hero…one who is just as worthy as the Batman of olden times…one who doesn't quite get proper due except from those who know that hero's true contributions to our continued existence."

Again the director smirked. "Project: Speedster."

The visitor blinked. "…I see. A suit that grants its wearer super-speed by way of technology."

"Emulating the abilities of the world's best-known speedster, including versatile uses of speed," added the director.

The sand-haired man paused a moment. "I presume you have mass-produced this suit already?"

"No. I have better respect for a legend than that. Besides, if I _did_ mass-produce such technology, any fool could get his hands on it and use it for all manner of purposes…including the wrong ones. And that would dishonor this hero's legacy irreparably." The director tapped his fingers together again. "My intention, rather, is to ensure that this outfit is delivered to someone who is worthy of bearing the legacy and the responsibility that comes with it. Between you, me, and the walls of this room, I've always been something of a fan of that legend…so who better to bear it than a worthy individual?"

"But you haven't found any such worthy individual," the visitor guessed.

"Unfortunately, no. That is why I've had it under lock and key here for so long." The director shook his head. "And that is why I contacted you. Perhaps you know someone, or are able to find someone, who can put this project to good use…or, failing that, you will be in a better position than we are to ensure that it's kept safe. Heaven knows, with all the security breaches and treachery we've had to put up with these last few decades, it's a wonder we haven't already collapsed on ourselves from the stress."

Again the visitor paused as he took in this information. "I must admit, I am somewhat surprised you would reach out to us so readily, especially for something as sensitive as this," he said quietly. "As I recall, your immediate predecessor was not quite so…cooperative."

"That was a different time, and my predecessor was a different person…and _did_ mellow as time went by, if becoming a little more zealous in specific pursuits toward 'the greater good'," returned the director. "I'd like to think of myself as being reasonable, to a point."

"Noted." The visitor nodded. "Very well. My group will work with you in accomplishing this project's intended purpose. A legacy must be honored, after all."

"Quite so." The director straightened up in his chair. "Morton?"

"Yes, Director?" and at once the bespectacled man appeared in the doorway again.

"Please show Mr. Jones to the holding area where 'Project: Speedster' is being held. He has agreed to keep it in secure storage for us, and to treat it as intended," the director instructed.

"Yes, Director," Morton nodded. "Right this way, Mr. Jones."

"Thank you." Jones made as if to leave the room…then paused and faced the director again. "You said you're a man of faith, Mr. Waller. Let us see if your prayers for this project of yours will be answered." And then he turned and followed Morton out of the room, leaving the director in the shadows of his office again.

**END PROLOGUE**

OOOOO

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 1: Rebirth of the Lightning**

THREE MONTHS LATER…

"Hey, Barry! Wake up, slowpoke, or we're gonna be late! Again!"

The blond-haired young man, a disgruntled look on his face, stood over a bed in which a covered-up lump slept peacefully. "C'mon, would you wake up already?" he snapped again.

"Mmm…go away, Jay," a sleepy voice emanated from beneath the covers.

Growling, Jay West grabbed a pillow and began smacking Barry with it. "GET—UP—THIS—MINUTE!" he yelled, emphasizing each word with a blow from the pillow.

"All right! All right! Sheesh!" Barry cried, flinging the covers off his body. "Take it easy!"

"Try telling that to Mom if we're late for her birthday luncheon again, dork," Jay said darkly, tossing the pillow at his brother's head. "Get up and get dressed, you slowpoke!"

"Yeah, yeah," Barry grumbled, running a hand through his fiery red hair even as he climbed out of bed and headed for the nearby bathroom.

"And don't hog all the hot water again!" Jay yelled after him as the bathroom door slammed shut.

"Whatever!" Barry shouted back from behind the door.

Shaking his head, Jay turned to a nearby dressing table and began to pick through the drawers. "Keys, keys, keys, where are you?" he asked in singsong.

His singing was interrupted by a knock at the door in the hallway. "Coming! Who is it?" he hollered.

"It's Daphne!" a female voice announced on the other side of the door.

Smirking, Jay ran to the door and flung it open to behold a blond-haired young woman, Daphne Dean, standing outside. On seeing him, her expectant face darkened. "Oh, hello, Jay," she sighed. "I thought it was Barry."

"I could be Barry if you wanted," Jay said teasingly, leaning against the door-frame. "All I'd have to do is dye my hair, and…"

"And you'd still be the same jerk as always. No amount of dye is ever going to alter that." Daphne crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Jay.

"And how am I a jerk, now?" Jay asked, still smirking.

Daphne began counting off on her fingers. "First year of high school, you were a jerk. Second year, you made the basketball team—still a jerk. Third year, made basketball team captain and lettered in track—still a jerk. Graduated from high school, then made it through the first three years of Central City University—still a jerk right through. Or have you forgotten all the wedgies you pulled on the people who were less popular than you, the kids you used to stuff into lockers, the fights you'd start for fun, and all the times you'd pull chairs out from under other people…among other things?"

"Hey, that was then. This is now. I'm a changed guy, Daphne," Jay chuckled.

"Tell that to all your past victims. I, for one, am not convinced." Daphne leveled another glare at him. "You know, if it wasn't for the obvious resemblance and the fact you both have the same parents, I'd be hard-pressed to believe you and Barry are really twins. How he wound up with a guy like you as his brother is beyond me."

"Whatever," replied Jay, rolling his eyes.

"Daphne, is that you?" Barry called out from behind Jay, emerging from the bathroom in a blue towel. "Just a sec, let me get dressed!" and he hurried back into the bedroom.

"Don't be too long, Barry," Daphne called after him. "Who knows how long I've gotta stay with your _brother…"_

"All right, all right, I can tell when I'm not wanted," said Jay, although his expression clearly still showed amusement. "Oh, please pardon me now, madam, I need to go start my car," he added mockingly, brushing past Daphne and out the door.

"Why don't you go pull your brain out of the trash where you dumped it, while you're at it?" Daphne flung after him.

"Never mind Jay, Daph; that's just how he gets, you've always known that," Barry called to her from inside. "Why don't you come on in and make yourself comfy? Although we won't be able to hang out for long…"

"Oh, you're going somewhere?" Daphne queried as she came inside and sat down on the couch.

"Today's our mom's birthday," Barry told her.

At that Daphne slapped a palm on her head. "Oh, no, I totally forgot! You could've reminded me, you know, Barry!"

"My bad, my bad," Barry answered in a sheepish voice, even as now he emerged from the bedroom wearing baggy blue jeans and a blue polo shirt. "I'll just tell Mom you'll bring her present later on, when you're free of mid-terms. She'll understand."

"Yeah, she's always that kind of lady, ever since we were all growing up together," and Daphne smiled now. "So, what are you giving her for her birthday?"

"I was planning to take her on a tour of the city's Flash Museum," replied Barry.

Daphne made a face. "Again? Isn't that what you gave her last year?"

"Yeah, well, _my_ mid-terms weren't exactly forgiving to me, either, you know," Barry admitted. "It'll be okay, though—they did some major overhauling of the exhibits, updated and upgraded some of them for realism, added some new exhibits…"

"You're such a superhero nerd, you know that?" Daphne asked, lightly punching Barry on the shoulder.

"Barry! Are you ready yet, dweeb? We gotta go! Tell your girlfriend bye-bye and get your butt in gear!" Jay shouted from outside.

"Yeah, yeah, coming!" Barry shouted back. "Sorry, Daphne, but we really have to go. Call you later?"

"Sure—tell your folks hi for me, okay?" Daphne leaned over and lightly pecked him on the cheek.

OOOOO

Half an hour later, Jay's yellow sports car pulled up outside a two-story suburban house. "Okay, you called Mom to let her know we were coming, right?" Barry, in the passenger seat, asked his twin.

"Me? _You_ were supposed to phone her, dummy!" Jay snapped, slapping Barry in the back of the head.

"Okay, look, can you at least pretend to be civil to me, today of all days?" Barry asked, scowling a little. "I promised Mom when you and I were going to room together for college that we'd be more mature than when we were kids—at least let her have some hope of that having happened, huh?"

Jay leveled a glare at Barry. "Not my fault you were always such a nerdish little twip when we were growing up," he scoffed. "I mean, honestly, who exactly chooses to go to college to become a crime lab technician? Bo-RING!"

"Grandpa was a lab tech, remember?" said Barry.

"Yeah, 'cuz he was a _nerd—_but then again, I guess it's true what they say, boring stuff gets passed on in the genes as well as fun stuff," Jay snorted.

"And being a jerk jock is good, how exactly?" Barry asked pointedly.

"Basketball team, track team, multiple trophies and awards, all-around sports son of Central City—I'd say it's been good enough," Jay replied, proudly flexing a bicep. "And don't forget, it worked in _your _favor too, carrot-top. Think how many of the guys on the team were ready to give you noogies or stick bubble gum in your hair the first year of high school—the only reason they didn't was because I was already doing it enough for five jocks!" Here he reached over and roughly tousled Barry's hair. "Be grateful!"

"Yay to you," Barry sighed.

"Barry! Jay! Good to see you boys, come on in!"

Looking up to see their mother standing at the front door, the brothers promptly exited the car and walked up the driveway to meet her. "Hi, Mom," Jay greeted her. "We'd have called to let you know we were coming, if a certain somebody had bothered to remember," and again he tousled Barry's hair.

Laura West, a 50-something with slight curls of grey here and there in her faded blond hair, shook her head at her sons. "Now, now, Jay, be nice," she admonished him. "What matters is, you're both here and I'm happy to see you."

"Is Dad here?" Barry asked.

Laura shook her head. "He had to work today," she answered. "You know how it can get with him, as Central City's police commissioner."

"So Dad's not celebrating your birthday with you? That's a bummer, Mom!" Barry looked crestfallen.

"Eh, Dad's probably got something planned for just him and Mom later—right, Mom?" Jay chuckled.

"We'll see," smiled Laura. "In the meantime, what do you two have for me? Or is it a surprise?" and her smile became a little more impish.

"Say, Mom, how'd you like a tour of the Flash Museum?" Barry asked eagerly.

"What? Oh, come on, that's what you gave her last year, doofus!" Jay reprimanded his twin. "And besides, the Museum's right there already—who says she can't go any time she feels like?"

"Oh, no, Jay, I don't mind," Laura cut in. "You've always known that the Flash was one of my favorite superheroes of times gone by. I'm just disappointed that the Justice League doesn't have anybody like him in their current ranks now…oh well, at least the Museum's better than nothing, right?"

"So we can take you, then!" Barry appeared hopeful.

"Oh, brother," Jay muttered.

OOOOO

"…_in other news, today marks the 50th anniversary of the official opening of our city's very own Flash Museum. The Museum was built in 2005 as a tribute to the city's costumed crime-fighter of the time, the super-speed hero known as the Flash. Even now, scores of residents are converging to witness the Museum's reopening in a special ceremony to be attended by several city delegates, including Mayor Jasmine Russell, police commissioner Maxwell West, and District Attorney Gregory Wolfe."_

Watching the blue-headed virtual news anchor on the television, Axel Walker scowled and shook his head. "What a bunch of saps," he grumbled. "Coming together to celebrate a dead superhero—what's more pathetic?"

Screenshots of the Flash Museum's front entrance were portrayed on the TV screen, with eager patrons waiting to get in while the museum's employees—decked in specially-tailored red and yellow jackets—patiently answered their questions and manned the striped red and yellow barricade ropes that currently prevented the public from just waltzing into the museum without permission. Superimposed over these scenes were still-shots of the three aforementioned delegates.

"Glory-hogs," muttered Axel.

Pretenders. That was all these people were, as far as he was concerned. The only reason these officials were hosting this reopening was to improve their social and political standing with the public. Oh, they might not come out and say it, but he knew better. He'd kept a close eye on their public appearances for a long time, and he'd become adept at spotting the art of putting on masks for the benefit of others. It was a skill he'd picked up from his dad, long ago, back when Axel was still a child.

_Either you're the trickster, or you're the one gettin' tricked._

All his life, as far as Axel could recall, he'd been tricked multiple times. By his parents, who'd worn the pretense of being happily married for sixteen of the years he'd known them before affairs on both sides split them apart sourly; by his teachers, who'd only acted as though they cared about his development when in reality it was all part and parcel of their appointed-and-paid-for roles in the city's school curriculum; by the few girlfriends he'd had in the two years of high school education he'd stuck around for, who acted as though they actually liked him when the truth was that they'd rather have slept next to corpses. He would never forget how, one day, he'd been sent home early from school for getting into a fight with one of the football jocks, only to find his mother in a daring position with their newspaper delivery boy; how his eighth-grade math teacher heaped accolades and pep talks on him, only for him to overhear said teacher in a staffroom chat with other teachers sadly denigrating his chances of graduating; how, in ninth grade, this one mousy-looking girl agreed to be his girlfriend, only to dump him as soon as she'd caught the eye of the hockey team's goalie.

But never again.

He'd dropped out of school in tenth grade and gotten into a number of scrapes with the law, on and off, since then. At twenty-two years of age, he could say with honesty that in the last five years he'd gotten several convictions for robbery with aggravation, wounding, burglary, and being in possession of offensive weapons. Of course, there had been more arrests than convictions, but Axel's parents had been well-moneyed and he therefore had a sizeable fortune at his disposal. He could hire the slickest and most snake-tongued lawyers to get the majority of the charges dismissed, or, failing that, he could seek out the dirtiest cops in the Central City PD and give them an extra bonus on their otherwise pitiful monthly salaries in exchange for them "accidentally" losing critical evidence or changing a line or sentence here or there in witness statements. The times he did end up in prison, it was because some cops refused to accept a bribe, likely to project their own sense of righteousness on him.

But even his prison terms weren't as long as the law actually warranted. Officially, it was because his social enquiry reports always pointed out how he'd had trouble adjusting to his parents' split, how he'd spent his later teen years as an angry youth who didn't have the requisite guidance to steer him right, blah, blah, blah. Unofficially, even judges couldn't resist the allurement of two months' leave at the finest Caribbean resort, all expenses paid for them and their families or loved ones, in exchange for making sure his prison terms were light in contrast to the charges and that his accommodations during his sentences were agreeable to his tastes.

Even so, money can only do so much for a person, and Axel was the type of guy who'd get bored easily. It was almost routine now to go to court and then jail for the same kinds of offences—but he needed something else, something _big,_ to make his day.

And this newscast, now, gave him an idea.

_Either you're the trickster, or you're the one gettin' tricked._

His father's words came to his mind again, and immediately he thought of all the people he'd come into contact with, who were all con artists in their own way. The judges, lawyers and cops who accepted his bribes under the quiet, while openly proclaiming to be avatars of law and order…the civilians who claimed to care about each other but who would stab each other in the back at the drop of a hat…and now, this so-called hero who they claimed to be commemorating, the infamous Scarlet Speedster. What did anybody ever see in that guy, anyway? Just like every other so-called superhero past and present, the Flash only wanted the glory of the limelight and was duping his fans into giving it to him by pretending to care about them.

Axel stood up and turned off the TV. He'd show them. He'd show them all.

The official museum reopening was to start its ceremony at 10:30 a.m., another half an hour from now. Plenty of time to get to the museum, break in, do what he had to do, and still have five minutes to vamoose.

He'd been a slippery customer to the law before. Time to up it a notch…and bring this dead so-called hero's legacy down a peg in the process.

OOOOO

"Aaaaaaaaaand here we are, at the illustrious Flash Museum, weathered by age but still standing strong, a living testament to the legacy of Central City's most favorite son of all time!" Barry said cheerfully as the car pulled up in the parking lot.

"And behold, as the exhibits come to life and replay the Scarlet Speedster's most famous battles in his career," Jay added mockingly. "Stow it, Barry; we all know the story already. We LIVE in Central City, you know."

Laura stepped out of the car. "It's 10:25 now…we're a couple of minutes early," she observed.

"We're not the only ones," Barry pointed out, directing their attention to the crowd gathering outside the front steps and several news crews with their recording equipment at the ready. "And traffic on the highway was murder—it's like everybody was coming today!"

"Yeah, everybody who didn't have a life," Jay shook his head. "Er, present company excepted, Mom," he added hastily.

"Well, let's go join the crowd, boys," and Laura walked toward the entrance, with Jay and Barry following moments later.

Easing through the crowd, they managed to close the distance between them and the front steps somewhat, and were just in time to behold an elderly man emerging from the museum entrance. Pausing right in front of the specially-prepared speaking podium, he waved a hand and began to address them at the microphone, while journalists' hand-held cameras flashed and video-cameras began recording.

"Good morning, fair citizens of Central City! Flash Museum curator Dexter Myles here, at your service!" he spoke up, in a loud and clear voice that reached even the back of the throng. "In just a few more minutes our main speakers will come to address all of us on this, the 50th anniversary of this museum's first public opening…and why, look, here they come now!" and he straightened up and looked right to the back of the gathering.

Everyone turned in time to see a black limousine and several police cars coming into the parking area, stopping in the areas designated for them. Then several police officers alighted from the cars and stood on guard, even as the limo's chauffer now stepped out and opened the back door for his passengers. Three persons exited the limo, all snappily dressed: a tall man with reddish-brown hair and clad in a blue suit with matching tie; a dark-haired woman in a peach-colored skirt-suit; and a dark-skinned, heavy-set man with a military crew-cut hairstyle, wearing a brown suit and sporting a frown on his face.

"Look, there's Dad," whispered Barry, pointing out the first man.

"And the mayor and the District Attorney," added Laura.

Making their way through the crowd and past the barricade rope, accompanied by a few officers, the trio of delegates joined Curator Myles on the steps. "Now that everyone's here, we can begin," the curator continued, looking pleased. "Now, let us begin our proceedings with a word of prayer, to be delivered by our police commissioner, Maxwell West. Sir?"

"Thank you, Dexter," said Commissioner West, stepping up to the podium amidst the applause that greeted him from the people. "Now, everyone, let us have a brief word of prayer for the proceedings…"

Heads were bowed politely and eyes were closed as the commissioner offered prayer for the ceremony.

"Very well," Curator Myles took his position at the microphone again once the prayer was over. "And now, let me introduce our very own mayor to speak to us at this time—Ms. Jasmine Russell!"

Again there was applause while the mayor stepped up. "Good morning, friends and citizens," she began. "Fifty years ago today, this museum was opened for the city's public in honor of our area's resident superhero, the Flash. Although we were never privileged to learn who the man was behind the mask, one thing we do know: without him, our city—and by extension, our world—would not be standing today. Countless times we owe our lives to his tireless efforts to fight crime and villainy within our borders; countless times he fought for us when we could not fight for ourselves."

There was some nodding from the older members of the crowd, many of whom no doubt recalled how the scarlet-clad hero had often rushed along the city streets to protect them against some threat or other.

"Tragically, the Flash, along with several other noted heroes of the time, sacrificed everything to save the world from the near-apocalypse of 2009," added Mayor Russell. "Yet his legacy continues to live, not only in this museum, but in the hearts of those still living who remember his actions, and in the minds of those who have only heard of him from those who have lived before him. For fifty years, the museum has stood as a testament to him…and today, with this reopening, we say 'Happy anniversary, Flash'! May your memory never die."

Mayor Russell straightened up. "And with that, I hereby declare the Flash Museum, on this its 50th anniversary, officially reopened!" she announced, to a burst of approving applause from the crowd.

OOOOO

"Check this stuff out!" Barry exclaimed, wide-eyed, as museum staff guided the visitors to the different exhibits. "There's definitely some new _schway_ stuff here since last time we came!"

"Certainly looks that way, dear," Laura agreed, glancing around. "See, over there, isn't that the Pied Piper in a different outfit from his traditional get-up?" indicating a mannequin of a red-haired man in a green-and-white bodysuit.

"Sure is!" Barry agreed. "And over here, they put up a holographic display of Flash's first race with Superman! They even show you the whole thing from start to finish, the path they ran that day, how they fought the Weather Wizard en route—everything!"

Trailing behind them, Jay looked incredibly bored. "Someone slag me," he muttered under his breath.

"Laura! Boys! I didn't expect to see you here!"

Turning, the family beheld Commissioner West approaching them. "Hello, dear," Laura greeted him.

Maxwell, in turn, kissed her on the cheek. "I take it you're all enjoying yourselves?" he asked.

"Well, I've gotten one birthday present so far—seeing this museum revamped like this on its 50th anniversary reopening," replied Laura. "Barry's idea."

"Yeah!" Barry readily admitted. "Pretty good coincidence that the museum's anniversary syncs with Mom's birthday, huh? It totally rips!"

"Well, it's good you're enjoying yourselves so far," said Maxwell. He then regarded his other son. "How about you, Jay?"

"Eh, it's so-so for me," Jay shrugged. "Not my thing, you know."

"Aw, be a buzz-kill, why don't you? How can you NOT be psyched by all this?" Barry exclaimed, waving his arm at the exhibits.

"Same way I'm not psyched by your boring career choice, remember?" Jay needled him.

"Come now, boys, no fighting," Maxwell stepped in between them. "And sorry, Barry, but I do have to side with your brother—not about your career goal, mind you, because heaven knows we could use some CSI guys who're as keen to detail as you—but the only reason I'm here today is because I was asked to be in attendance by the mayor. Otherwise I'd be catching crooks from my office, ha-ha!"

"I bet if the Flash was still around, you'd have an even easier time catching crooks, Dad," said Barry.

Maxwell shrugged. "The city holds him in high esteem because of his past record, but the fact remains, even back then he was an unsanctioned vigilante operating outside the dictates of the law. No matter how much public support he had, if I was commissioner back then I'd have to arrest him, according to what the law says. That's just how the cookie crumbles."

"Well, let's just be glad we have all this memorabilia to remember the Flash by," Laura said warmly. "Will you stick around, dear?" she asked her husband.

"Sorry, but I have to get back to work just now," Maxwell answered. "But don't worry, Laura dear, after I get home from the office you'll get my birthday gift to you, without fail. Boys, keep your mother company, will you? I have to go now." And with that, he turned and left.

"Same old Dad," said Barry. "Rarely a spare moment with him."

"Oh, never mind, dear—you know your father does the best he can with his schedule," said Laura.

"Guess you walked a mile in his shoes to be able to say that, huh, Mom?" asked Jay.

"Something like that," said Laura.

"Well, anyway, what're we waiting for? Let's check out the rest of the exhibits!" Barry urged them.

"You guys go ahead—I'll catch up," Jay waved them away. "I'll just be over here, by the vending machines, looking for something _interesting_ to do."

"All right, but we meet back at the car in an hour, okay?" Laura advised him.

"Sure thing, Mom. Later!" And Jay stalked off.

"Okay, Mom, let's check out the Captain Boomerang exhibits! Those are so cool!" Barry urged his mother.

OOOOO

Mingling with the crowd, Axel Walker grinned even as his grip on his backpack's strap tightened. Everything he needed was already here and waiting for him in the museum, and he only needed to find the specific location where they were stored. He also had some additional things in the pack, stuff he'd spent time working on in between his periods in jail.

For all that he'd dropped out of school, he had at least picked up some useful stuff in his chemistry and machine shop classes. Those skills were put to the test in the development of his little toys, and he figured the other things that the museum housed would provide whatever else he currently didn't have. Now if only he could find what he needed…

OOOOO

Wandering around, Jay glanced at the various exhibits. There was one of the legendary Scarlet Speedster punching out two of his most notorious foes, the Weather Wizard and Captain Cold…there was another of the same speedster in a victorious pose…and over there was a holographic image of said speedster in running motion. Then there were a few displays of different costumes that the Flash or some other speed-related hero had worn, ranging from the familiar red and yellow to white and blue or purple and gold.

As he looked around, his eye caught something that the other patrons were virtually ignoring: a doorway with two lines of big yellow tape obstructing the entrance, bearing the words _CAUTION_ and _NO ENTRY _in bold black letters. "Hmm? Well, now, wonder what's in there?" Jay whispered to himself.

Casually walking in the direction of the door, Jay leaned against the wall, watching to see if anybody had seen him. Satisfied that everyone else was too preoccupied with the exhibits, he turned and tried the handle on the door…and was pleased to see it open without a sound. "Heh…this'll be more fun than this boring get-together, for sure," he chuckled to himself as he slipped under the warning tapes and went inside.

OOOOO

Axel's eyes widened in pleasure. There they were! Stashed in one specific area, like most of the other themed exhibits, were the objects he wanted…only, there were several patrons milling around. But they wouldn't pose a problem for him; he was already too skilled a thief. And it helped that he had some additional ammunition to deal with trouble.

Opening a small partition on his backpack, he pulled out a handful of marbles. These would come in handy to momentarily blind the eyes of the people, he knew. And he had just the thing to protect himself from the flash-bang effect, too…

OOOOO

Jay found himself heading down a staircase, unlit save by the light shining from the few windows there were inside. It was a fairly long descending staircase, but he soon ended up on the landing, where there was a large door. "Hmm. I wonder what the odds are that this thing's locked?" he asked aloud. "Eh, probably just some boring old files stashed away in here…ah well, if that's what it is, we'll soon see, won't we?"

He tried the door handle—and it promptly unlocked, and with a triumphant flourish he pushed the door open. "Let's see what the folks are hiding down here!" he chuckled, stepping in.

Now he was in a single room with lots of empty space…but as he looked around and his eyes got accustomed to the relative darkness, he noticed that there were several costumes neatly stashed to one side. Several he recognized as replicas of the Flash's outfit, while others were used outfits worn by the hero's villains of old, copies of the ones on display upstairs. "Okay, a storage room," he sighed and shrugged. "Well, so much for it being more fun than upstairs…"

Then his eye caught something else. "Hmm?"

Next to the costume pile-up, on a mannequin stand, there was a Flash suit. Only, this one wasn't like any of the others on the floor or even like the ones on public display upstairs…this one had some slightly different aesthetics to it. Its cowl was different, for one, more resembling a helmet and missing the lightning-bolt earpieces familiar to the costume's cowl; the belt was of a completely different design from the traditional lightning-bolt belt that the usual costume had, though its design did point slightly downward like its predecessor; and it bore golden-yellow wrist-length gloves instead of the lightning-bolt designs on the usual costumes' wrists. Yet the boots were similar, despite a slight design difference, and there on the chest was the familiar yellow lightning bolt on a white circle.

Jay cocked an eyebrow as he studied the suit. Normal Flash costumes, like the ones on display upstairs and those on the floor down here, appeared to be made of the infamous spandex material; this one, designed as one whole connected suit that could seemingly be slipped into and zipped up easily, seemed to be a queer mix of spandex and circuitry, with some little fine golden lines running here and there that reminded him of that one classic movie he'd once seen when he was younger, _Tron._ And unlike the other suits in this room, this one, while slightly dusty from being in storage, looked brand new and didn't seem to have been down here as long as the rest of the items.

"Hmm…what's the appeal all about, anyway, huh?" Jay asked the suit. "Everybody practically idolizes you in spite of your being dead all these years."

Then he shook his head. "What am I saying? I'm actually talking to a costume! I need to get my head examined."

He paused. He cocked an eyebrow at the suit. Then he looked behind him, toward the doorway he'd used to enter this place, and then back at the suit again.

And then a weird idea came to him as he recalled what he'd said to his mother moments earlier.

_Guess you walked a mile in his shoes…_

OOOOO

"Hmm?"

Dexter Myles, walking amidst the visitors to the museum, couldn't help but notice that something seemed off about that one door he'd put the warning signs in front of to keep out undue intruders. While there was nothing dangerous down there per se, recently he'd acquired a brand-new custom-tailored Flash jumpsuit, donated by a Mr. Jones three months ago, who'd told him to make sure that that suit was never put in any danger of being stolen by anyone. Granted, aside from a few aesthetic design differences, the suit didn't seem much different from all the others currently on display here, but Mr. Jones had put special emphasis on this suit being safeguarded for some reason…and since a lot of credits were paid for this to be accomplished, while he was still curious, Curator Myles wasn't about to complain.

So why was the door ajar?

Curator Myles shook his head. Probably some youngster who'd decided to go snooping around for kicks. Well, he might be old, but he was still the curator. He'd show the little punk a lesson or two. He just hoped he'd remembered to lock the other door further downstairs, where the suit was stashed along with some other old costumes.

Carefully easing the door open, he slipped underneath the warning tape and quietly crept downstairs. And his worst fears were realized: the storage door was ajar. Cursing himself for becoming so careless at his age, the curator stepped as lightly as he could down the stairs, walked up to the door, and peeked in.

And there was a young man in the room, actually _trying on_ the very same suit Mr. Jones had warned him not to let get stolen, slipping it on over his own clothes and zipping it up. "Hmm…trying on this stupid suit, and I still don't see what the appeal of a dead superhero is," the guy was muttering to himself.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" Curator Myles demanded.

"Huh?" The interloper spun around fast, clearly startled at having been interrupted. "Hey, hey, easy, old man, I didn't mean any trouble!" he exclaimed, zipping away to the other side of the room in a split-second.

_Zipping away to the other side of the room in a split-second._

Curator Myles stared. His eyes must have been deceiving him. Nobody could move that fast—at least, nobody he knew of since the Scarlet Speedster of years gone by. And the youngster in this suit looked just as baffled at what had just happened as he himself did.

The youth was the first to break the silence. "Uh…what was that?"

The curator found his voice. "Boy…what did you do? How'd you move that fast?"

"How should I know? All I did was put on the suit!" the youth replied.

The gears moved rapidly in Curator Myles's mind. _Is this why that Mr. Jones character was so insistent that this suit not be stolen? Can it be that this suit is…somehow special in its own way?_

**CHA-KOOM!**

As one, the two men's heads swerved upward. "What on earth?" Curator Myles began.

OOOOO

Glass shrapnel flew in numerous directions as patrons screamed and bolted in a frantic effort to escape the explosion. As smoke billowed from the display area where the blow-up had occurred, police officers and museum staff alike frantically tried to bring back some semblance of order, but the fear of the people mixed with their desire to escape and not be killed overrode all such efforts. Then, from the direction of the blinding smoke, banana peels inexplicably flew out and landed in random places, causing rushing patrons to slip on them and crash into one another, stumbling to the floor in confused, yelling heaps.

Startled at the initial blast, Mayor Russell and D.A. Wolfe found themselves accosted by members of their police guard. "Ma'am, sir, come with us quickly," one cop urged.

"Good thing Max left already—maybe we should've followed his lead!" Wolfe said gruffly.

Then, above the din of the escaping civilians, loud and riotous laughter could be heard. "Leaving already, Mr. Wolfe? I thought you'd want to stick around and witness how much I've leveled up to the next extreme!" a voice shouted.

"That voice…" Wolfe's face hardened. "Axel Walker, is that you? I'd know your voice anywhere, you little punk! Come out here now!"

"If you insist…" Then, out of the smoke the miscreant stepped. He was clad in bright orange camouflage pants, a blue-and-yellow sleeveless vest over an orange T-shirt, dark blue gloves, and blue-and-white sneakers. He wore a blue domino-mask over his eyes, and on his mouth was a hyena-like grin. "Like my handiwork? I came up with it on the fly, but it's pretty effective, I think."

"Just a couple more charges to add to your rap sheet, Walker—malicious destruction of property and creating public mischief," Wolfe growled at him. "Officers, arrest that man!"

The policemen promptly pulled their side-arms and took aim at Axel. "On the ground now! Hands on your head! Do it NOW!" one snapped.

Instead of complying, however, Axel immediately pulled a back-flip and headed right into the smoke from which he'd come. Landing where the police couldn't see him, he reached into his jacket and unveiled a little toy rat which he quickly wound up. Setting it on the floor, he sent it rushing at the police—and as they stared at it in confusion, the fake rat opened its mouth and promptly unleashed an ear-piercing sonic screech that caused the cops to drop their guns and grab their ears, dropping to their knees while screaming in pain.

Also holding their ears in agony, Wolfe and Mayor Russell were too distracted to notice Axel calmly walking over, pulling out what appeared to be a water-pistol from his coat, and spraying both them and the downed officers with a pink-looking gunk. Then he bent down, picked up the little toy rat and deactivated it—and removed a pair of earphones from his ears. "Gotta love pop music when sonic vibrations threaten to wreck your ears," Axel joked.

Relieved that the sonic noise had stopped, the officers attempted to get up again—but to their surprise, they couldn't move, as the pink stuff they'd been sprayed with held them fast like iron. "Ugh! What is this stuff?" they exclaimed in confusion.

"A bit of liquid bubble-gum glue, straight from the storage of my namesake's toys," Axel answered smugly.

Mayor Russell stared disbelievingly at him. "Your…namesake?"

"Got that right," Axel chuckled. "This city knows me as Axel Walker already…but now…from this day forward, I'm gonna be known as the Trickster!"

OOOOO

Standing at the door to go back to the museum, Jay and Curator Myles looked on in astonishment at the wild-haired guy making his pronouncements. "The Trickster? He's naming himself after one of the Flash's oldest enemies? How presumptuous!" Curator Myles whispered indignantly.

"Well, he's sure living up to the name. I mean, seriously, liquid bubble-gum glue?" Jay shook his head.

"Don't underestimate those things—the Trickster may have used joke items in his day, but they could be incredibly lethal," the curator told him. "Look at how he incapacitated the police with that toy rat! Even now my ears are ringing…" and he put a hand to one ear, wincing a little.

Jay's eyes narrowed. "Somebody's got to stop that _dreg_ before he does any more damage," he said stoutly. "I'm going in."

"You?" Curator Myles looked incredulously at him. "But what can you do?"

"Hey, I've got this suit, don't I?" said Jay, indicating the Flash costume he was still wearing. "Somehow it lets me run real fast. That should give me an edge over that guy. And anyway, the cops sure can't do anything, the mayor and the D.A. are hostages, everybody else has run out, and who else is gonna fight him—you?"

"Look here, boy—"

"Jay."

"Okay, fine then, Jay. We've only just found out what that suit can do, and you've clearly never used anything like it before. You're jumping into untested waters here!" Curator Myles pressed. "Suppose you can't control it?"

"I'll just have to wing it," answered Jay. "Better to do that than let him keep doing what he's doing."

Curator Myles frowned. "Well, if you're that determined, you may as well look the part one hundred percent. Put on your mask."

"Why the mask? I'm not afraid to show him who I am!" Jay argued.

"But do you want him to target your relatives to get back at you later?" Curator Myles gave him a look.

Jay considered this. "Hmm, good point. Fine, then." He pulled on the cowl, and at once the top half of his face was masked with opaque lenses over his eyes. "Well, here I go…"

OOOOO

"The Trickster?" Wolfe scoffed at Axel's self-naming. "Oh, please, kid. Anybody who knows about the Flash's history knows that the original Trickster at least had mental illness to explain his criminal actions. What's _your_ excuse?"

"What excuse do I need? This city's full of tricksters already—I'm just the only one honest enough to openly act on it instead of acting like a hypocrite like the rest of you do!" Trickster replied.

"Hypocrite? What're you talking about?" Mayor Russell asked, baffled.

In response, Trickster spread his arms out to indicate the museum. "Look at this dump," he sneered. "You people kept it up all these years to honor a dead man. How do you know he wasn't tricking the whole lot of you—pretending to be a hero when all he was really doing was acting in his own interests? And for that matter, _you_ people…" He pointed a finger at the two. "And others like you, too. You act so self-righteous, so holier-than-thou, using people and pretending to be their friends and to have their best interests at heart, and really you're laughing at them behind their backs while you spend their tax dollars to furnish your own lavish lifestyle and cut under-the-table deals with crooks for your own benefit! You scam society—so I'm just going to scam you first before you do it to me!"

"Oh, look, we have a saint in our midst," Wolfe said darkly.

"You know what, man? I've seen your face too many times at court and heard you talk a big game so often…well, let's see how big you are now!" Trickster intoned menacingly, reaching into his jacket and pulling out…an aerosol spray-can.

"Is that thing supposed to frighten us?" Wolfe asked with a snarl.

"Oh, I don't think you're in any position to be so high-and-mighty now, Wolfe, old buddy," said Trickster, shaking the can vigorously. "After all, who knows what kind of deadly substances can be in spray-cans these days…well, why don't I test this one on _you?"_ And he held up the can, ready to spray Wolfe in the face—

—but suddenly a sharp gust of wind blew past him! "Whoa!" Trickster cried, managing to steady himself…and then he noticed his hand was empty. "Huh? Where'd it go?"

"Looking for this?"

Hearing the voice, Trickster looked up and beheld a scarlet-clad masked man, wielding the spray-can even as he leaned against the wall. "Who…?" the crook started.

Mayor Russell and Wolfe stared in astonishment at the new arrival. Even the cops, who up to this point had been struggling to free themselves from the pink gunk Trickster had sprayed on them, looked on with wide eyes. "I don't believe it…" Mayor Russell breathed.

"No way…" Wolfe blinked.

"If you're going to christen yourself the new Trickster, then allow me to introduce myself…as the new Flash," the scarlet newcomer addressed Trickster. He then tossed the spray-can away. "Now…let's dance, funny guy."

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 1**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: And there you have it, folks. The prologue and opening chapter for this re-submitted story of mine are completed. Next chapter, the action begins.

This story is set one year after the _Justice League Unlimited_ episode "Epilogue," where Terry McGinnis finds out about his real connection to Bruce Wayne. Since there's no mention of the Flash, or indeed of any speedster related to him, in the _Batman Beyond_ timeline, I thought I'd take it up on myself to write a little story about a speedster of the _Beyond_ era. There will be many mythology gags connected to the Flash comics, as well as continuity to the DC Animated Universe; however, the _Justice League Adventures_ and _Batman Beyond_ comics will not be treated as canon in this story.

Why have I decided to revisit this fanfic? Well, I made a note in my other currently ongoing fanfic, "Kitsune no Ken: Fist of the Fox," and its accompanying "Kitsune no Ken Gaiden" material, that that story would be my final fanfic that I'll ever be writing ahead of ultimate retiring from overall fanfic writing. But I really don't like having to leave things unfinished if I can help it, and even though I stopped writing this fic and my other fic "Velocity" due to certain convictions that came to me at the time, I want to try and give at least this one a proper send-off and conclusion if possible. So for those who were following "Velocity," please take note—I am considering to remove it, as well as my earlier works "Speed Force" and "Return of the Secret Society" from the site and use sections from all three of those stories to pad this one. Quality is better than quantity, I say.

Now, on to the next chapter! Coming up—the Flash goes into battle against the Trickster, with the lives of innocents in the balance! How will the city react to the appearance of this new Scarlet Speedster? And what more will Jay learn about the costume he now wears, which grants him the abilities of the original Flash—and, for all he knows, may also have other powers he knows nothing about? Next chapter—_The Flash vs. The Trickster!_

(Fresh acknowledgements must go at this time to fellow fanfic writer JaredMilne1982, whose ongoing work "Ultimate Spider-Woman: Change with the Light" inspired me to come up with the concept for this story, and whose advice was most helpful in developing the ideas for future chapters of this story.)


	2. The Flash vs The Trickster

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 2: The Flash vs. The Trickster**

If anyone had told Valerie Powell when she woke up this morning that she would have gotten a story even bigger than the one she'd have as her assignment for the day, she would simply have shrugged it off. After all, as a reporter for the _Central City Chronicle_ newspaper for the last four years, she'd seen quite a number of events and incidents that ranged from ground-breaking to mundane, but always somehow found a way into the news nonetheless by her machinations. In fact, just last week she'd covered the official opening of the newest branch of the multi-million-dollar conglomerate Stone Industries in the heart of Central City's business district; the week before that, she'd gone to an extremely dull charity function hosted between the mayors of Central and Gotham Cities; and the week prior to that, she'd pulled double duty as court reporter for the trial of a man accused of shooting his cheating wife and her lover.

So when the _Chronicle's_ editorial department assigned her to cover the 50th anniversary and reopening ceremony for the Flash Museum, it hadn't evoked any truly excited reaction from her. _Just another day on the job_, she'd thought as she accepted the assignment.

It wasn't the first time she was covering such an event—she'd gone to the 49th anniversary function for the museum the year before—and she was prepared for it to be only mildly interesting at best. In fact, the biggest surprise about it for her was the fact that only three major city figures were in attendance; then again, the showing was more for the residents and specifically those who were fans of Central City's most famous and popular celebrity, despite him having been gone all these years.

Valerie could certainly appreciate that this museum was Central City's greatest, some might argue only, claim to fame. When she came to this city for work four years ago, the first thing that caught her eye was the huge sign on the city outskirts that told the world that Central City was the birthplace and home of the Flash, the Fastest Man Alive, and she suspected that this would be the most enduring memory of any person who, for any reason, should ever choose to migrate elsewhere. And it wasn't too hard to understand why a superhero, even a retired or dead one, might be a city's claim to fame—Metropolis had Superman, who despite his being up in age was still as strong as when he first came on the scene decades ago, and Gotham had Batman, who despite clearly being a different person behind his mask still carried the same mystique as did the Batman of olden days. But she believed that compared to Metropolis and Gotham and whichever other cities had superheroes active in them, Central City was in danger of burning out its keynote attraction.

_What's the use of having a Flash Museum if the inspiration behind it isn't around any longer?_

Yet Valerie kept her thoughts to herself, knowing that she'd only been living here a short period of time compared to others her age who'd grown up here, hearing story after story of the Flash's adventures from those old enough to remember him in action. Again, though, as far as she was concerned with this assignment, it was just another item of news that would ensure her regular deposit of credits in her account at the end of the month.

Nonetheless, there was one point that she'd picked up while pursuing her journalism career these last couple of years—that the main story for a given assignment was not necessarily the function or speech itself, but anything that would stand out or be unusual or that would otherwise catch the public's eye. So it was not merely the fact that some big-shot politician was scheduled to speak at the official opening of a children's orphanage fund that was the story. Rather, if the politician happened to speak during his keynote address on a matter of national importance, or if during his speech somebody confronted him about misappropriated constituency funds, then _that_ was the main story.

Yet despite knowing this, nothing could have prepared her for what she was to witness at the Flash Museum's reopening. That a criminal with a noted reputation for repeatedly getting into trouble with the law should launch an open assault on the museum, taking on the name of one of the Scarlet Speedster's famous archenemies in so doing, was bigger news than the reopening. As with everyone else, the initial explosion had caught her off-guard, but, her reporter's instinct kicking in, she hadn't followed the stampeding crowds to the nearest available exit. Instead, she'd kept herself hidden as best she could, behind one of the Gorilla Grodd exhibits, and snapped picture after picture of what she could manage to see while ensuring that the flash-bulb on her digital camera was disabled so as not to unduly attract attention to her presence.

And the news was getting bigger by the second, what with the arrival of this stranger clad in a slightly altered version of the Flash's classic outfit and his challenge to Axel Walker, no, the Trickster now. Valerie snapped shot after shot with her camera, hoping all the while that none of the really good shots came out too blurry.

_This will be the biggest story the _Chronicle_ gets for this year by far!_ she thought to herself.

OOOOO

At 45 years of age, Jasmine Russell was perhaps the youngest-serving mayor in Central City's history. Like everyone else in her demographic and among her peers, she'd grown up hearing stories from her parents about the city's most well-known citizen, the scarlet-clad superhero known as the Flash, who'd reportedly been one of those heroes who died or otherwise just vanished after the near-apocalypse of '09. She'd always considered herself a realist, though, never expecting that anyone else would ever take up the mantle of the Fastest Man Alive after that event.

That someone actually should appear bearing the red and yellow of the speedster in her lifetime, and right in front of her eyes at that, was to her a moment worthy of awe.

"Who…is this kid?" District Attorney Gregory Wolfe whispered to her.

"Right now, I'd say he's the guy who's just given us a few extra minutes to live," the mayor whispered back.

Meanwhile, Trickster looked at his new challenger with utter derision. "The Flash? You?" he sniggered a little. "So what, you wanna be a hero, pal?"

"Not at all," Flash shook his head. "I just wanna be the guy who's gonna knock your teeth out."

"Knock my teeth out, you said? You're free to try…but try _these_ teeth first!" So saying, Trickster reached into his jacket and pulled out a set of wind-up artificial teeth. Swiftly winding up the toy, he dropped it to the floor—and the teeth immediately began chattering even as they bounced toward Flash.

"Oh, please. Is this the best you can do?" Flash scoffed, preparing to give the teeth the boot—but he halted his action on seeing the teeth bound right up to his face from four feet away, sprouting needle-like fangs from behind the molars. Immediately he shifted to one side, reached out and grabbed the teeth and flung them to one side, causing them to hit a nearby wall and break apart.

"Hey, watch out!" one of the still-restrained cops shouted at him.

Turning his head on hearing the shout, Flash was just in time to see a metallic-looking playing card flying at his head. He ducked, and it missed him…and its razor edge slammed into the wall behind him, sending small chunks of concrete flying in the process. _That might've torn my brain to pieces if it hit,_ he thought grimly.

Not far away, Trickster held up a deck of cards from which he'd thrown his projectile a moment ago. "That was the ace of spades I just dealt you," he smirked. "Want to see what these cards can do again?" He promptly picked up three more cards from the deck and hurled them one by one at Flash. "Catch!"

Not wishing to risk impalement again, Flash dodged each card as it came flying at him. _All right…so this suit not only lets me run fast, but once I see some kind of danger coming at me, I can react fast enough to avoid it. But I can't afford to mess around with this guy any more—who knows what else he's got under that jacket!_

Dodging the third card, he rocketed right toward Trickster. "All right, time to get rid of this!" he shouted as he grabbed the front of the jacket with both hands.

He wasn't prepared for the sudden searing pain he felt at his fingertips and just under his skin as a sudden electrical jolt coursed through him. _"NNNNRRRRRGGGHHH!" _The jolt flung him violently backwards, even as his hands felt numb from what he'd just experienced.

As Flash writhed on the ground, Trickster casually dusted off his jacket. "A little safety mechanism I made," he explained. "If anybody but me tries to remove the jacket, they get a nasty shock—but then again, you don't need me to explain _that,_ now do you?" he laughed. "Speaking of which…" He rapidly strolled up to the speedster's body and launched a wicked kick to his face. "Who's kicking out whose teeth now?" he jeered, kicking again.

Blood spewed from Flash's mouth as Trickster's kick connected again and again. _Not good!_

As Trickster thrust his foot forward for yet another kick, Flash acted. Moving his hands quickly, he grabbed hold of the surprised villain's ankle and then shoved his own arms upward. The action resulted in Trickster losing his balance and falling flat on his rear—and before the rogue could recover his bearings, the speedster flung his own leg forward, catching Trickster in the jaw and causing his head to spin and his body to crash face-first to the floor.

Rapidly scrambling to his feet, Flash lunged forward and grabbed Trickster by his hair with one hand and by his throat with the other, roughly pulling him to a standing position. "Urk! Ow, ow, ow!" Trickster croaked even as Flash swiftly dragged him to one of the hallway columns and slammed him hard against it.

OOOOO

Unbeknownst to any of the participants and spectators still inside the museum, right at the entrance a video-camera for the city's local television news station was capturing every moment, even as the cameraman kept himself hidden behind one of the columns at the entrance. Next to him, the reporter who'd come with him to cover the museum's reopening was watching the brawl with wide eyes even as he whispered into his microphone as loudly as he dared.

"This is Xander Walter, reporting live for Central-Keystone News from the Flash Museum in Central City," the reporter whispered. "If you're just joining us, the 50th anniversary reopening of the museum has been hijacked by a costumed criminal—but someone in a costume like Central City's local legendary superhero, the Flash, has stepped in to challenge him! Even now, the two are in the middle of a fierce fight with hostages at stake!"

Already in his early 30s, Xander Walter had grown up in Central City's nearest neighbor, industry-heavy Keystone City, and like others of his era he'd heard all manner of stories about the Fastest Man Alive, the scarlet-clad speedster who patrolled the Central-Keystone area but for the most part kept his activities in Central City. Walter couldn't help but think to himself at times that this was why they'd elected to erect the Flash Museum more on Central City's side in its heyday, while Keystone City didn't get almost as much publicity outside of the occasional bit of news about its local hockey team, the Keystone Combines.

Not that Walter, or anyone else in Keystone, really minded that much. After all, with more superhero activity in Central City, Keystone had an opportunity to be what it was always famed to be: the blue-collar capitol of this section of America, with honest and hardworking folks who weren't afraid to get into the midst of the grime to earn an honest dollar at the end of the day. Walter himself had grown up in a pretty suburban section of Keystone, with a crime rate that was no lower or higher than anywhere else, but anywhere he went he always heard stories about the Flash from those old enough to have witnessed him in action. Even with its relative obscurity compared to its sister city, Keystone still liked to capitalize on the fame of the scarlet hero, it seemed.

Personally, Walter never quite understood the hype about the Flash, though he didn't exactly dislike him either. After all, didn't other cities that had superheroes also hype about their resident champions? If anyone had to ask him how he felt about the speedster, he'd have said he was more neutral than anything. If Flash was there to protect and serve, that was fine by Walter; if not, that was fine too—at least the cops would be earning their pay a bit more often.

Still, as a television reporter with eight years and numerous stories under his belt, Walter knew what made good news. And _this,_ playing out right before his own two eyes and the artificial eye of his cameraman's video recorder, was news that he'd be remiss to not report on.

"Among the hostages are the city's mayor, Jasmine Russell, and District Attorney Gregory Wolfe, plus several officers of the Central City Police Department," Walter continued his reporting. "Right now, it looks as if the Flash—or whoever it is in the Flash costume—has subdued the costumed criminal. But who _is_ this mysterious vigilante, who's apparently taken on the mantle of Central City's famous hero, who's been missing for over the past four decades since the historic near-apocalypse of '09? More updates to come!"

OOOOO

Pressed against the column as he was, Trickster scowled—and suddenly, shifting his head forward, he spat right into Flash's eyes. "Gah!" Flash yelped as, instinctively, he removed his hands and rubbed the spittle away from his face—and then remembered that his cowl came with opaque lenses that actually covered his eyes and thus would have shielded him from that oral assault.

_Bright move, West._

He looked up again just in time to see Trickster, moving out of arm's range, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out…a stuffed turtle? Then he flung it to the ground.

The stuffed turtle hit the ground with a _POP_—then the whole world turned white from Flash's point of view. "Gah!" he cried out, swiftly putting his palms to his face and frantically rubbing at his eyes…and then he doubled over as he felt a fist slam into his midsection.

"Gotta love a me a flash-bang turtle—and definitely gotta love how my mask protects my eyes from the bright lights," Trickster chuckled, before sending an uppercut right under Flash's chin and causing him to stumble backward, followed by a punch to the chest, a right hook to the jaw, a left to the ribs, a kick to the stomach, and a roundhouse kick to the head that knocked Flash flat to the floor.

OOOOO

Having been momentarily blinded by Trickster's flash-bang turtle, Valerie crouched even deeper into her hiding place behind the Gorilla Grodd statue, blinking furiously while waiting for her vision to come back into focus. But although she couldn't see for the moment—and she was sure that the mayor, the D.A., the cops and the scarlet-clad newcomer, all being closer at the point of impact, would have it much worse than she did—she could still hear, and she clearly heard Trickster's blows impacting on the Flash.

Her vision cleared and refocused, and soon she could see more than two feet in front of her. At once she grasped her camera, hanging from her neck by its little strap, and stuck her head out a little with camera in hand, ready to snap more pictures as needed. And there, in her line of vision, the hostages were still in the same place, trapped by the Trickster's weird pink gunk…and on the floor was the Flash, holding what seemed to be his injuries from Trickster's beating, with Trickster himself reaching into his jacket again and pulling out…a rubber chicken?

OOOOO

He still couldn't move because of the disgusting bubble-gum stuff on him, but Wolfe felt a small bit of gratitude that at least now his eyesight was recovering from the effects of the bright light that shone out from Trickster's trick-turtle a moment ago. And the first thing he saw had him gritting his teeth in aggravation—Trickster hovering over the Flash, with what appeared to be a rubber chicken in his hands.

If not for what he'd already witnessed from Trickster's arsenal, Wolfe would have laughed the criminal's new choice of weapon to scorn.

"Come on, kid, get up," he heard Mayor Russell whisper her plea.

"Get up already, Flash!" the nearby cops were much louder, even as a few of them still tried, fruitlessly, to free themselves from the glue-like substance.

"Save your breath," Trickster called to them over his shoulder. Then he addressed the downed Flash, "So much for a _dreg_ who wants to play dress-up and pretend he's a hero. Now say good night!" And he raised the rubber chicken over his head.

Right before his arm muscles moved for him to swing the chicken downward at Flash's head, he blinked.

And in the seconds it was taking for his eyelids to open again in the midst of that blink, he glimpsed a blur of red even as a hand reached up and grabbed his wrist. And then he found that he was on eye-level with the speedster.

Flash's glare bore into Trickster's suddenly-widening eyes. "You think _you_ fight dirty?" Then, in all of one second, he balled his free hand into a fist, pulled it back, and sent it shooting down and under and then rising up between Trickster's legs.

A scream tore its way out of Trickster's throat as something rather important got a vicious impact. Every male in sight of this visibly cringed; even Wolfe, as grizzled as he looked, couldn't help biting his lower lip. Trickster released his grip on the rubber chicken as both hands shot to his crotch and he doubled over deeply.

"Aaaaahhhaaaahhhaaaoohhhhoooowwww…low blow…!" Trickster rasped.

"You don't say. You want another?" Flash quipped.

Trickster whipped his head up, alarm written all over his face at such a prospect, and his hands tightened protectively over his crotch. Consequently, he was unprepared for the red-gloved punch that slammed into his jaw, sending him stumbling. But Flash wasn't done—he send a kick to the side of Trickster's knee, causing the rogue to buckle on his legs as he tried frantically to keep himself on balance; then a rapid left-right-left-right punch combo sent him stumbling even more badly. Then Flash zipped up to Trickster again, appearing to have gone from two feet away to two inches in a single hop, and flung a super-speed uppercut straight into his opponent's face. Trickster's head got flung backward as his feet got lifted from the floor and his whole body was sent sailing into a nearby gorilla exhibit, knocking over one of the gorilla mannequins.

"EEK!"

The scream got Flash's attention. It hadn't come from Trickster or any of the hostages.

And in less than two seconds, he'd dashed behind the falling gorilla mannequin, it had fallen to the ground with a heavy thud as its head and arms broke off from the impact…and he was standing in the clear, a young woman in his arms, while on the floor Trickster lay amid the wreckage, groaning and insensible. For her part, the young lady looked quite frightened, but otherwise none the worse for her experience of a few seconds ago.

"You okay?" Flash addressed his burden.

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." She flushed a little in embarrassment. "Um, I think you can put me down now."

OOOOO

All along, Dexter Myles had watched the confrontation from where he'd been initially hiding with that Jay fellow a short while earlier. Now, seeing that the Trickster was down and evidently out for the count, he stood up from behind the barricaded doorway and walked over to the scarlet-clad youth. "Marvelous! Well done!" he exclaimed, applauding loudly.

Flash turned on hearing that. "Thanks, I guess," he answered. "So…now what?"

"How about freeing us?" one of the cops spoke up.

"Oh—right! Well, now…" Curator Myles stooped down and examined the pink gunk that Trickster had sprayed on the group. "Hmm…this looks like one of the original Trickster's special glue-traps from back in the Flash's heyday. Well, no worries, folks, I think I've got the perfect thing to get you free from this!"

"Well, go get it and get us out of here," Wolfe said gruffly.

"And while he does that…" The woman Flash had just rescued now pulled a digital tape-recorder out of her pocket and switched it on, holding it up to Flash's face. "Valerie Powell, for the _Central City Chronicle. _Care to give an interview?"

"Huh? Uh…whoa. I, uh, I don't know what to say…" Flash rubbed the back of his head.

"Then just follow our lead, kid!" a new voice called out—and immediately a man was rushing from the entrance with a microphone in his hand and a cameraman accompanying him. "Xander Walter, for Central-Keystone News!" he hastily introduced himself, bouncing over the still-downed officers as he came in.

"Hey, watch it! We're not skipping stones, you know!" one cop yelled at him.

Ignoring that remark, Walter and his cameraman were in a moment standing on one side of Flash, while Valerie promptly took up her position on the other side. "So, tell us, how'd you know the Trickster was going to be here at the museum reopening?" Walter fired off immediately.

"Uh, I didn't, actually," said Flash. "I just happened to be nearby and did what anybody would be of a mind to do, I think."

Valerie took up the pace. "Clearly you're a different person from the man who was the Flash years ago," she said. "What made you decide to put on the costume?"

"Well, the thing is…" Flash started.

"Excuse me, Flash! Could you come over here a moment—by the Captain Cold exhibit?" Curator Myles called to him.

"Uh, sure! Could you guys excuse me?" And with that, Flash zipped away to another section of the museum.

"Nuts—probably going to help the old guy find something to free the mayor and the others," sighed Valerie.

"Speaking of the mayor…" Walter turned to look at Mayor Russell. "Care to comment, ma'am?"

Mayor Russell's eyes widened as the two reporters and the cameraman turned fully to her. "What? Now? While I'm still stuck here like this?" she exclaimed, indicating the gum-like glue.

Wolfe smirked. "Smile for the viewers, your honor," he quipped, earning him a stinging glare from the mayor.

OOOOO

A little further inside the museum, Flash found Curator Myles picking out a curious-looking pistol from an exhibit of a man in a blue-and-white winter parka. "You hollered, old man?" he asked.

"What I did was to call you away from those reporters for your own good," said Curator Myles. "Next thing you know, you'd go blabbing about how you found that costume in our basement and decided to try it on for kicks—_and_ expose who you really are in the process."

"No, I wasn't!" Flash said defensively.

"All right, then, tell me what you were going to say to them," and Curator Myles gave him a look.

"Well, I was…um…I was gonna say…aw, _slag_ it," and Flash's arms drooped down by his sides.

"Listen to me," Curator Myles whispered. "Right now, you need to make a very quick exit out of here and not attract any more attention to yourself. Just down that passageway," here he pointed in a direction further inside, "there's a storage closet, and next to that is the museum's back entrance—it should be locked, but you can make your way out from there. Ditch the suit in the closet and leave, now."

"But—" Flash tried to break in.

"Don't argue with me!" the curator hissed. "Trust me on this one, boy—it's better this way. I'll make up an excuse for your leaving, but right now you're not in a position to answer any prying questions the media and the public will have." He glanced back briefly to where the group was still congregated. "Go, now."

"All right, all right. I'll go. My mom and brother are probably wondering where I am now, anyway," sighed Flash.

"One more thing, about that—don't tell anyone you were the one wearing the suit today. NOBODY. Am I clear?" Curator Myles asked, his tone hard.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Secrecy and all. Fine, I won't squeal. Sheesh." And, shaking his head, Flash super-sped away in the direction of the back entrance.

"Okay!" Curator Myles hollered loudly. "I think I've found what'll remove that glue from you folks—one of Captain Cold's freeze-guns should do the trick! With any luck, by freezing the glue, it'll lose its stickiness and be easy to break out of!"

OOOOO

Meanwhile, outside the museum, amid the crowd of people that were still lingering following their flight from the building…

"Mom!"

"There you are, Barry!" Laura cried, running over to her red-haired son and catching him in a tight embrace. "I lost you in the stampede, coming out of the museum…just what happened?"

"I'm not sure," said Barry. "One minute we were looking at the Dr. Alchemy exhibit, then the next thing I knew there was an explosion, people were running and screaming…it was, like, utter chaos! I was starting to wonder where you'd gone to, since we got separated in the rush…"

"Well, at least now we've found each other…" Laura paused and glanced around. "Have you seen your brother? I couldn't find any trace of him, either."

"Jay? You mean you haven't seen him out here, either?" Barry frowned. "Okay, we need to find him, pronto!"

"Mom! Barry! There you are!"

Both of them looked up in time to see Jay running toward them. "I was wondering where you guys were," he hailed them. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as I'll ever be, I think," replied Laura. "What a day! Something blows up inside the museum, and the whole visit is spoiled!"

"Sorry, Mom," said Barry, putting a sympathetic arm around his mother's shoulders. "Guess it wasn't such a hot idea to bring you here for your birthday this year after all, huh?"

"Hey, whoa! Would you look at that?" a bystander suddenly exclaimed, pointing toward the museum's entrance.

Those near enough to hear the exclamation complied, and were rewarded with the sight of Mayor Russell, D.A. Wolfe and several police officers alighting down the front steps, picking off what appeared to be frozen bits of ice from their suits. Close by this group, two officers were unceremoniously carrying a limp youth in an orange T-shirt and orange pants, while a third was gingerly handling a blue-and-yellow jacket. At once whispers began to fly through the watching crowd. "Who's that guy?" several were asking of the unconscious man.

Without pausing for the crowd, the mayor and the D.A. were escorted by their police guard to their limo and swiftly whisked away, while the other officers herded the mystery man into the back of one of their police vehicles and soon after sped off with him. Watching all this for a moment, Jay's attention was suddenly caught by the appearance of the reporter Xander Walter at the top of the museum stairs with his cameraman. "Hey, Barry, how about we get Mom out of here? I think she's had enough excitement for one morning," he suggested.

"I think we've_ all_ had enough excitement today," Barry agreed, also spying the reporter. "Anyway, we need to let Dad know what's happened. He's gonna throw a fit, that's for sure!"

"Let's go, then, boys," Laura nodded. "Jay, where'd you park the car again? I really need to sit down."

OOOOO

"WHAT?" Commissioner West exclaimed, his grip on the phone tightening even as he sat up straight in his office chair. "An explosion at the museum? Are you all right? And the boys?"

"_We're all fine, dear,"_ Laura's voice came through on the end of the line. _"We managed to get out safely. It seems the police have also captured the man who was responsible for it."_

"I see…well, thank heaven none of you are hurt," said Commissioner West, slumping back into his chair in relief. "Do you need me to come home?"

"_That's all right. Jay and Barry are driving me back home right now, and they offered to stay with me until you get back from the office."_

"Oh. Well, that's fine—at least you won't be alone now," said the top cop. "As soon as I can grab a moment, I'll come straight there and you can tell me everything that happened."

"_Certainly, Max. Take care now."_

The line went dead, and the commissioner hung up the phone—and just as he did, the device began to ring again. "Talk about timing," he muttered as he picked up the receiver once more. "Yes?"

"_Sir, there's a Ms. Valerie Powell on hold for you—from the _Central City Chronicle," the receptionist informed him. _"She wants a comment on certain events that have happened today at the Flash Museum."_

Commissioner West sighed inwardly. Reporters. They always seemed to know the worst possible times to call important figures for comments on some issue or other. Well, he's just heard the news of the blow-up at the museum from his wife, but since it was the first bit of news he was receiving about it, he could put on a convincingly surprised response over the phone while assuring the reporter that he would have the city's best police operatives looking into it, et cetera, et cetera. "Put her through."

He hung up the receiver and waited a moment; then he heard the phone ringing and automatically picked it back up, knowing that the call would now be connected directly to him. "Hello, Commissioner West speaking," he announced himself.

"_Good afternoon, sir, Valerie Powell from the _Chronicle," the new speaker replied. _"Seeking a comment on the events that transpired at the Flash Museum a short while ago, sir."_

"I'm afraid you'll have to fill me in on that; I left shortly after the mayor's reopening ceremony speech," said the commissioner.

"_Well, sir, a criminal attacked the museum while dressing himself like one of the Flash's classic super-criminal enemies, but the police have him in custody,"_ the reporter summarized.

"If the perpetrator is now in police custody at this time, then that's a testament to the efficiency of Central City's police force," Commissioner West said importantly. "Of course, I don't have all the official details of what happened at this time, but rest assured, once the matter is thoroughly documented, this man will be brought before the court and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, equivalent to his crimes. In the meantime, the officers who apprehended him are to be congratulated in the short-term, with appropriate commendations and awards from me and the city to follow."

"_And what of the other person who aided in his capture—the man who was dressed like the Flash?"_

"…I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Commissioner West frowned a little.

"_A man came and fought the attacker, and was dressed in a red-and-yellow costume like the Flash—and he moved as fast as the previous Scarlet Speedster,"_ said Ms. Powell. _"Are you able to comment on that aspect, sir?"_

The Commissioner's bewilderment didn't need to be faked.

OOOOO

On Central City's north-east side, _Cedric's Diner_ was in full swing as patrons entered, exited, ordered food and picked up pre-ordered meals, while waitresses in bright gold outfits took down meal orders or delivered them on trays. On a large wall-mounted flat-screen TV just behind the counter, patrons sitting and eating their meals there watched and argued good-naturedly as, on the screen, the Keystone City Combines hockey team played furiously against the Gotham City Ravens.

"Oooohhh! Look at that—that Raven just fouled!"

"That ref doesn't know how what he's doing! He ain't fair!"

"One turkey special, extra mayo, hold the onions!"

"Gimme an order of cheese-fries and a cherry coke!"

"Hey, honey, after your shift's up, how about I take you out, eh?"

"Sorry, Mickey, you know I don't date customers. Work policy and all."

Close by, on a wall just opposite the counter, the clock ticked to 12:00 noon…and just like that, the screen-shot of the hockey game was replaced by an image signaling the start of the midday news. Immediately the hockey-enthusiasts groaned. "Aw, come on! The news can wait—we wanna watch the game!" some hollered, with others expressing their agreement by banging on the counter or on their tables wherever they were sitting.

The blue virtual news anchor's head came on the TV at that moment. _"Good afternoon, and welcome to the noonday edition of the Central-Keystone News,"_ said the anchor. _"At the top of the news: Has Central City's greatest legacy been revived after over four decades?"_

At the side of the screen, next to the anchor's head, there came a screenshot of the Flash, his red mask and chest insignia of a yellow lightning bolt in a white circle made prominent in the picture. _"This, after a man clad in the costume of the famous Scarlet Speedster appeared at the Flash Museum earlier today, to foil an attack on the site by a costumed criminal during the museum's fiftieth anniversary reopening. Our reporter, Xander Walter, was at the scene and filed this report…"_

Video footage of the mayor's initial address at the front of the museum appeared. _"One moment it was pure celebration from Central City's residents as Mayor Jasmine Russell gave the opening speech for the Flash Museum's 50th anniversary reopening ceremony…" _Then there was a cut to the Trickster's attack. _"…but shortly afterward, patrons were sent scampering for safety as this man, who styled himself as the Trickster, launched a wild assault on the premises and took several police officers, Mayor Russell and District Attorney Gregory Wolfe hostage."_

New footage came on just then, showing bits and pieces of the Trickster's fight against the Scarlet Speedster. _"But what could have become a potentially dangerous hostage standoff was averted when another man, this one clad in the crimson threads of the Flash, challenged the terrorist and defeated him after a short, though difficult battle."_

Another picture of the Flash came up, this one with a large yellow question mark over it. _"Although many are now breathing a sigh of relief that the incident has been contained, questions remain unanswered. For one, who is this mysterious red speedster? Is he, in fact, the original Flash come back to life? Or was he ever really dead at all, or just in hiding? Or, as may seem more likely, is he a new character who has simply chosen to take on a legacy that many thought would be dormant after the Scarlet Speedster made the ultimate sacrifice during the historically-recorded 'near-apocalypse of '09'? When asked for his view, this is what Flash Museum curator Dexter Myles had to say…"_

A video clip came up at that point, with the elderly museum curator speaking. _"Without a doubt, it's someone different," _Curator Myles was saying. _"If you compare the Flash's classic outfit design with the design of this fellow's suit, you'll notice there are several differences. And, of course, this person is much younger than the original Flash would logically be if he was still around. But I'll say for sure—whoever he is under that mask, this new Flash has done the museum a small service today by preventing its destruction and saving the lives of Central City's finest, as well as two of the city's elected officials."_

Walter's voice-over came on again. _"Meanwhile, D.A. Wolfe offered this statement…"_

Another video clip was played, this one showing Wolfe's dark features. _"There's no denying that this new Flash did some amount of good to save our lives today,"_ he said. _"Even so, I would prefer that all of us in Central City be cautiously optimistic at this time. Just because our city has a tradition of honoring the original 'Fastest Man Alive' doesn't necessarily mean his presence will be all good—after all, wherever you have costumed heroes, costumed criminals will inevitably follow. And history shows that those kinds of criminals are harder to prosecute in courts of law than your average bank robber."_

"_So are you, then, blaming the Flash for the Trickster's attack on the museum today?"_ inquired the off-camera Walter.

"_Admittedly, that wasn't the Flash's fault,"_ Wolfe conceded. _"The Trickster is a man who's previously known to law enforcement and the courts—Axel Walker, who has had prior convictions for robbery and burglary, among other charges. And I expect that he will be charged with malicious destruction of property and attempted murder, after what has happened here today."_

Walter's voice-over came once more. _"Mayor Russell declined to comment at this time, but has promised that later today her office will issue an official statement on the matter. In the meantime, the police have ordered the Flash Museum to be temporarily closed for crime scene processing, until further notice to the public. Reporting for Central-Keystone News, I'm Xander Walter."_

The entire diner was silent. Forgotten were the hockey game, the idle banter, and even the meals that were to be delivered or eaten.

OOOOO

Back at the museum site…

"You mean I _have_ to vacate the museum, too?" Curator Myles's face fell. "But I'm the curator!"

"Sorry, sir," said the police officer. "Our crime-lab boys have to process the entire scene. Standard procedure, you understand."

"Oh, well, I suppose it can't be helped," the curator sighed. "But could I please at least be allowed to pick up something of mine further around to the back? I promise, I won't get in your way."

The officer contemplated this. "Well, a lot of the ruckus was closer toward the entrance…I suppose it won't cause any harm," he relented. "All right, go ahead. But be quick about it—they'll soon roll the crime scene tape over the entrance."

Nodding his understanding, Curator Myles headed toward the back of the museum—and toward the back exit, where the storage closet he'd pointed out earlier was. _Better pick up that costume and get it out of here before the police find it…who knows what'll happen to it if they get hold of it…_

Presently he reached the door to the storage closet and opened it, wondering how he'd manage to get it past the officers without rousing suspicion. As far as he could recall, though, the suit was flexible and light enough to be folded…perhaps he could smuggle it out underneath his coat…

The costume wasn't there.

Curator Myles gaped as the reality struck home. Then he looked right at the neighboring back entrance, an aggravated look coming over his face. "That little punk…!"

OOOOO

Jay pulled over in front of the West family home. "Here we are, away from the nuttiness," he cheerfully announced.

"Away from the nuttiness? Didn't you hear the broadcast over the radio a while ago? The Flash was actually there! _The_ Flash! And we missed the chance to see him in action!" Barry lamented.

"Well, dear, what happened inside the museum was a dangerous situation, and everybody was scrambling to get clear. It couldn't be helped," Laura consoled him. "Maybe next time we'll get to meet him."

"Pretty bad odds there, Mom," Barry sighed, refusing to be consoled. "I mean, what are the chances we'll ever get to see him now?"

Jay smirked a little at the irony, but he remembered Curator Myles's warning to keep his involvement a secret. "Get over it, twip—you'll see the guy in tights on the evening news, don't worry."

"Seeing him on TV isn't the same as seeing him in person!" Barry complained. "But what would you know, huh? You were dying to get away from the museum anyway!"

"Come on, now, that'll be enough of that," Laura cut into her sons' brewing quarrel. "Let's go inside and relax. I think we all need to do a little unwinding after what happened at the museum."

Exiting the car, they all went into the house, where Laura promptly flopped down on the couch. "Wow! What a birthday gift this was!" she proclaimed loudly.

"I wish it could've gone better, that's for sure," Barry said ruefully, sitting down beside her.

"Yeah, Barry—who gives their mom a near-death experience as a birthday present?" Jay needled him.

But Laura shook her head. "I'm not even talking about the danger now—I'm talking about the fact that the Flash is back in our city once more!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining brightly.

The brothers looked at their mother, a touch of surprise on their faces.

"Ahhh…" Laura leaned back and sighed. "For over forty years, this area has been without a protector…and now, we have the Flash back again! I mean, sure, it's obviously somebody else behind the mask, but even so…it's still the Fastest Man Alive, back once again!"

"But what about Dad? You heard what he said before, about the Flash being a vigilante," Jay pointed out.

"So were the Justice League's people back in the day, and you don't' hear anybody giving _them_ grief, do you?" Laura made her comeback.

"All right, all right, I know when I'm beat." Jay stretched upward. "Anyhow, I'm just going to go check on some stuff in the car. Be right back!" And with that, he headed outside without waiting for a reply from his mother and brother.

Heading back outside, he jumped in on the passenger's side and reached over as though to open the glove compartment. As he did so, he ducked down slightly and observed with a smirk that the boots of the Flash costume he'd worn earlier were safely tucked underneath the driver's seat, and the gloves were tucked away inside the boots…and the rest of the suit was neatly hidden beneath Jay's own clothes.

_Convenient…maybe this is how the first Flash wore his suit when he had to be out as his civilian self? I could get used to this._

He only wondered what else this costume was capable of doing, with whatever other abilities it could give him. And how long it would take before the museum's curator noticed he'd jacked it for himself.

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 2**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—reactions to the new Flash's appearance in Central City continue to come in from all quarters! Jay performs a series of trials to test the suit's capabilities, Dexter Myles seeks to confront him over swiping the suit from the Flash Museum, and a mystery individual comes to Central City…but for what purpose? All this happens as the new Flash, even in the midst of discovering what his costume is capable of, crosses paths with a man capable of causing vibratory shocks tremors wherever he wishes: Shockwave! Next chapter—_Movers and Shakers!_

(Time for some additional post-chapter commentary: For some of the characters, I'm using their names directly from the comics; for others, I'm deliberately mixing up a few names here and there. For example, Valerie Powell is a portmanteau of two different characters—Valerie Perez, a love interest for Bart Allen/Impulse, and Trudy Powell, a one-time love interest for Wally West before he eventually married Linda Park. Similarly, Xander Walter takes his name from Walter West, an alternate universe version of Wally West, and Alexander Petrov, the second Mr. Element. To add to this, in the comics there are two Tricksters—the first is James Jesse, a circus aerialist who turned to crime, and Axel Walker, a spoiled rich kid who stole his predecessor's gear for himself. The first Trickster was used in the _Justice League Unlimited _episode "Flash and Substance," while the second Trickster, which is who I've used here, has a motivation not unlike what I've outlined in this chapter. Of course, none of these characters belong to me, but are all the property of DC Comics.)


	3. Movers and Shakers

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 3: Movers and Shakers**

"_Coming up in our prime-time news package: the legend of the Flash is revived in Central City, with a fight to save lives at the Flash Museum's 50th anniversary!"_ the blue head of the virtual news anchor showed up on the evening newscast. _"Also coming up: reactions of the common man and city figureheads in Central City to the return of the Flash! A look at the life and career of the original Scarlet Speedster! And in sports, a brawl between fans at the ice rink during the Gotham City Ravens versus the Keystone City Combines hockey qualifier game! All this and much more, coming up after the break—but first, we seek your viewer feedback on this question: Are you pleased with the emergence of a new hero bearing the name and legacy of the Flash? To participate, call in your answers to the following numbers for our station…"_

Seated at the large computer terminal from which the newscast was currently being shown, its dark-haired operator sat back in his seat, fingers of both hands interlocked, but otherwise showing little reaction to the lead news summary he'd just heard. He also didn't react when, behind him, a woman appeared out of the silhouetted area of the large room they were in, a tray of food in her hands.

"I thought I'd come deliver your dinner in person," the woman spoke softly, setting the tray down on the table near the man. "You know, you should come out more often. Being cooped up in here isn't good for you."

"I _do_ get out a lot," the man replied, eyeing her but otherwise not moving.

"In the sunlight, I mean. Or haven't you noticed how pale your complexion's been getting lately?" his companion queried.

Allowing himself a brief chuckle, the man now reached for the tray and settled it into his lap. "Beef stew, Greek style; potato salad with green peas; and freshly-diced tomato and cucumber salad. Looks delicious."

"Only the best is good enough," the woman replied, allowing herself a brief smile as well as she leaned on the man's chair.

"_Welcome back!"_ the news anchor came on again, grabbing their attention. _"We begin this evening with news that Central City's most famous superhero has returned—the Flash, the Scarlet Speedster, the Fastest Man Alive! Although reports indicate that the person behind the mask is not the same as the one who was a founding member of the Justice League back in its heyday, that mattered little this morning as he foiled a hostage situation during the Flash Museum's 50th anniversary reopening in Central City. We have coverage provided by the Central-Keystone News network…"_

A clip of the original Central-Keystone News video from earlier that day then played, showing how the Flash did battle with the Trickster and rescued the latter's would-be hostages. "Nice costume," the woman observed.

"Which one—the red pajamas or the clown outfit?" the man asked, between mouthfuls of beef stew.

"Duh! The Flash, of course!" she rebutted, suffering him a rebuking look.

"I'm just messing," he answered, raising his hands in mock surrender before plunging his fork into the potato salad.

"Still…" Now the woman's look became more thoughtful as she turned her eyes back to the news report. "What do you think of this? I mean, really."

Her companion set the fork down and swallowed his mouthful of food, also taking on a thoughtful look as his eyes drifted back to the screen. "It's a bit early to tell. I say give him a little time to get into the role. Let's just watch and see how he grows. If he's really the hero they're playing him up as, we'll see it. If not, well…"

"Personally, I'd prefer if Central City's new champion was the real thing," she replied quietly. "They've been without a superhero for so long…"

The man sighed. "You know, I never was privileged to meet the original Flash, but from what I hear, he was a good man. I hope this person, whoever he is behind that mask, can meet up to the legacy's expectations."

"Like you did?" The woman eyed him.

"I carved out my own niche. Let this new guy do the same." He looked up at her. "I do hope you're right, Dana. They _have_ been without a hero for a long time."

"Well, Terry, they may have just gotten one."

As if to emphasize that last point, suddenly a swarm of bats flew about far above their heads, screeching noisily as they took limited flight, but neither of the two was perturbed.

OOOOO

"_Late this afternoon, Central City's mayor Jasmine Russell sent out a release to all news media in the wake of the new Flash's appearance and subsequent defeat of the Trickster at the Flash Museum's 50th anniversary reopening. In the release, Mayor Russell said, quote: 'My office is immensely grateful to the young man who bore the image of the Flash, in his rescue of myself, the District Attorney and several police officers from the rampaging criminal who took us captive at the Flash Museum. I am prepared to do as my predecessors did with the original Flash and provide him with an award for bravery and service to the city, once meetings are held to discuss the way forward in integrating, or in this case re-integrating, the concept of a superhero protector in our jurisdiction.'"_

Watching this latest news update coming out of Central City, the newspaper editor for Metropolis's famed _Daily Planet _nodded with approval. Already the _Planet's_ office had secured a press forum with Central City's Commissioner Maxwell West, its District Attorney Gregory Wolfe, and other stakeholders to talk about the Flash, for later in the week.

The _Planet's_ best reporter would be sent on this assignment; there hadn't been a lot of groundbreaking reports about Metropolis's own first son for a long while, so that could wait. This new hero's rise was now priority, for who knew how long it would be before his impact reached Metropolis's borders?

Nodding again, the editor turned and headed for her office, where on the door the big brass letters _L. LANE_ were right there for the whole office to see.

OOOOO

_This is completely unexpected._

Such were the thoughts running through Mr. Jones's mind as he sat in his modestly-decorated living room, watching the news reports about this new speedster bearing the name of the Flash. Watching the video feedback of the youngster's fight with that costumed criminal, he immediately recognized the outline of the suit that had been entrusted to him and that, in turn, he had entrusted to Curator Myles to keep safely.

Had Myles sanctioned this person to wear the costume? And under what circumstances did it happen?

Mr. Jones stood up. A trip to Central City was in order.

It had been too long since he'd last been to his long-time ally's home region, anyway.

OOOOO

Dexter Myles was still fuming when he came in the front door of his cottage.

Actually, his emotions were more mixed than strictly angry. On one hand, he was furious that that Jay fellow had disobeyed his explicit instructions and made off with the costume. On the other hand, he was relieved that, at least with the suit in Jay's hands, the police wouldn't have it languishing in their evidence storage room for who knew how long. He was also grateful, in hindsight, that there was no security camera in the room where he'd caught Jay trying on the suit; otherwise, there would have been some difficult questions to answer once the police were done perusing all the tapes from the museum's cameras.

But now Jay could be anywhere, the curator noted unhappily. And what were the chances he'd see him again anytime soon?

Sitting down at his living room table, Dexter closed his eyes and tried to visualize the young man's face in his mind. Blond hair…blue eyes…no, that could describe probably somewhere less than one half of all men in Central City under the age of 30—still a substantial number nonetheless, among a population numbered in the millions.

Yet Dexter couldn't shake a nagging feeling in the back of his head.

_Have I seen that face before…? WHERE have I seen it? Come on, memory, get into gear…_

As curator of the Flash Museum, and also as a former Shakespearian stage actor in his youth, Dexter had been gifted with the ability to remember faces in great detail. He could still recall the sour-looking expression of the first stage manager he had had to work with when he first joined an acting troupe; the birth-mark on the left cheek of his first wife; the bright hazel eyes of that one young man he'd caught stealing from the troupe's company till. So remembering Jay's face was no big issue for him; the problem was, Jay's face was rather generic, a face that could match _any_ man's general description. Even so, Dexter still felt the niggling feeling that told him he'd seen the boy's face before…

He had. It was a much more youthful version of the city's police commissioner.

Rapidly getting up, Dexter hurried over to his desktop computer situated not far away, logged in and began to type into the local search engine furiously. "Central—City—Jay—West," he mumbled under his breath as he inputted the search information.

Two minutes later he had his answer. In the archives for the _Central City Chronicle's_ website, he saw a picture of the same young man, with a caption declaring to the entire world that Jay West, then age 17, had copped the regional high school basketball tournament trophy on behalf of Central City High. Elsewhere in the archives, there was a social picture which showed Police Commissioner Maxwell West attending a weekend birthday dinner for then-mayor Orville Peak, accompanied by his wife Laura and their twin sons Jay and Barry—Jay with shining blond hair, Barry with fiery red locks, but otherwise indistinguishable as twins.

_How interesting. The police commissioner's son dresses up as a masked superhero._

But even now that he knew who the young man was, Dexter still had to get back the suit from him somehow. He just needed to do it discreetly; it simply would not do to go to Jay's parents' home and ask to speak to their son, out of the blue like that.

Dexter decided to try something else. It would be a long shot, but better than nothing. He typed again.

His new search yielded a graduation photo, also taken by a _Chronicle_ reporter, that informed the reader that Jay West had graduated in the top ten in his class and had also received a basketball scholarship to study at Central City University and play for their team, the CCU Thunderbolts, based on both his academic and sporting prowess. Other photos showed Jay tossing basketballs together with two of CCU's basketball coaches to further highlight his achievement.

_Central City U, eh? Well, let me see…based on the timeline of these photos, he'll have been there three years by now…and he'll just have started his fourth year. Maybe…_

Dexter nodded with resolve. He'd pay a visit to the university first thing tomorrow.

OOOOO

"Whew! Here we are again!" Jay exulted as he and Barry came through the front door of their college flat.

"Well, at least we were able to make the luncheon for Mom after all, to make up for the museum fiasco," Barry sighed, taking off his jacket. "Good thing she wasn't too put out with what happened."

"With all the news about the Flash appearing, and with Mom already being a fan and everything, yeah, I'd say luck was here today," Jay remarked.

"I'm still sorry we couldn't actually see the Flash for ourselves—what a fight that must have been, him and that Trickster guy!" said Barry, his eyes shining in wonder.

"Oh, whatever," Jay shrugged. "If it wasn't him, I guess the cops would have managed to do something about the Trickster. It all boils down to the same thing."

Barry shook his head. "You'll never get it, Jay—you're too much of a muscle-head."

"Hey, just because I'm not a rabid fan-boy like you, that doesn't mean I've committed any crime," Jay shot back.

"Oh, so I guess you'd call Mom a rabid fan-girl, then?" Barry challenged him.

Jay grinned maliciously. "See, buddy-boy, there's a difference between you and Mom. Sure, you're both part of the Flash's fan-club, but at least she's got other realistic priorities to keep her life busy and varied, _and_ she's our mom. You're just my nerdy brother who likes to have his head in the clouds and in a boring chemistry book 24-7."

He swiftly jogged over and grabbed Barry in a headlock, balling his free hand into a fist and rubbing his knuckles into his twin's scalp. "And plus, I can't do _this_ to Mom!"

"Oh, shut up and let go of me already!" Barry snapped, wrestling himself free from Jay's grip. "Sheesh, you're impossible! I can't believe I still have to put up with this even at university," he grumbled, rubbing his head where Jay had noogied him.

"Well, I'm the older of the two of us. It's what big brothers do to their twerpy little brothers," Jay teased.

"You're only older by a couple of minutes," Barry shot back.

"Still the older one," said Jay smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Whatever," grumbled Barry. "Anyway, I'm gonna shower and get to bed early. I've got criminology class in the morning. You're the lucky one—no classes scheduled for tomorrow. Plenty of time for you to laze about like usual." And with that parting shot, he bounded toward the bedroom.

Watching his brother's departure, Jay couldn't help but smirk. _Well, he IS right about that…I was lucky enough to get tomorrow free of classes for this semester…but…_ He lightly fingered his shirt, underneath which was the scarlet costume. _I think I'll take some time and do some practicing with this suit…see what else it can do…I just need to find a perfect place to test it out…_

OOOOO

On the southeast border of the city, the upscale Golden Rainbow Hotel was doing brisk evening business. Guests were checking in or checking out, being escorted to their rooms, surrendering their room keys as they prepared for departure, or fussing with the desk clerks about botched reservations. In the main dining area, dinner was being served while the hotel band played soothing tunes to ease the diners' appetites. Across the hall from the dining area, other guests were enjoying themselves in the gaming lounge, perhaps a bit too much, as one after another of them either left beaming that they'd won a few hundred dollars or bemoaning their accumulated losses. Some of the younger men among the guests were flirting with some of the younger female staff members, who giggled even as they made showy attempts to ward off the attention. In the kitchen, food orders were barked back and forth as chefs worked tirelessly to prepare the finest meals and servers expertly went out with trays heavily loaded and balanced on their fingertips.

One server approached a table with a pitcher of water in hand. "Sir, madam," he politely addressed the seated couple as he refilled their almost-empty water glasses for them.

"Thank you, young man," the couple's male half replied.

As the server continued filling their glasses, the woman idly glanced down at the table—and noticed something odd. "Dear, what's this, now?" she asked.

Her companion looked down and also observed it—their cutlery seemed to be quivering. "Eh? Odd."

The quivering was gentle at first…then increased in intensity…then suddenly it seemed that the plates, then the glasses, and then the entire table were trembling. "What's going on?" the woman exclaimed, worry increasing on her face.

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrr…_

A low but very audible and menacing-sounding rumbling noise could be heard as, now, the other diners noticed trembling at their own tables. Then it seemed the entire room was rocking violently, as plates, glasses and cutlery fell over and spilled their contents. Screams of confusion and terror blended together even as the guests, servers, waiters and band members stumbled and fell. One of the ceiling lights was jarred loose from where it was bolted to the ceiling and fell with a shattering crash to the floor.

_RRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!_

Elsewhere in the hotel, patrons and employees alike were screaming and rushing amongst themselves in total chaos. Some savvy persons, no doubt knowing what to do or not do in an earthquake, promptly got as close to the corners of their respective areas as they could, or under tables, and crouched down low to protect themselves; but even this could not lessen the dread as the building's sprinkler system was activated and sprayed water everywhere, and as ever-growing cracks now tore through the walls and floors. On some floors of the building, pieces of the ceiling fell, walls caved and fell either inward or outward, and even the backup electrical system shorted out and plunged the entire building into darkness.

The chaos and terror intensified. The shaking continued unabated. Glass shattered out of several windows. More sections of the walls and ceilings on several floors broke off and fell. Maddened by panic, several persons trampled over one another in a desperate rush to escape the rocking all around them. Expensive pieces of electronic equipment all over the hotel crashed to the floor, suffering significant damage.

Then, just like that, the tremors lessened…lessened…lessened…and stopped.

And on a hill a mile away, watching the Golden Rainbow, there stood a man in a blue-colored suit with yellow designs on the torso, and with glowing gloved hands that were balled into fists and aimed at the hotel. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line as the energy pulsing from his fists lessened and disappeared; then he turned and walked away from the destruction he'd just overseen.

OOOOO

The next morning…

"_Last night Central City's Danville district felt a sustained tremor for several minutes, with the local Golden Rainbow Hotel sustaining extensive infrastructural damage both inside and outside the facility. There were at least 67 reported injuries, but miraculously, no-one was killed. Damage to the hotel has so far been estimated at $130 million, but the cost is expected to rise as surveyors continue to inspect the tremor's after-effects on the site. A short distance away from the epicenter, five residential buildings suffered some infrastructure damage as well, but there were no reports of injuries and the damage estimates for those locations have not yet been ascertained."_

Jay reclined comfortably on the couch, a bowl of cereal in hand, and he noisily slurped it away as he watched the newscast on TV. "Well, good thing nobody died there," he shrugged. "Oh, well, so much for that!"

Finishing his cereal, he hurried to put the bowl in the kitchen sink—and just then there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he shouted.

"Dexter Myles, the Flash Museum curator. Open up, please."

Cocking an eyebrow, Jay went to open the door, and sure enough, there stood the elderly curator. "Oh, howdy, old man," he greeted him. "How'd you find me?"

"A simple Internet search last night, then a little chat with the college's security guard a short while ago—turns out he's got a good memory for faces, like me," said Curator Myles. He looked past Jay into the house. "Anyone else here?"

"Nope—my brother went out for an early class half an hour ago. Luckily for you, I haven't got any classes today," replied Jay. "I take it you'll want to come in?"

"Yes, I think that would be best," Curator Myles nodded, and Jay stood aside and let the older man enter. "Well, let's not beat around the bush. I noticed you didn't do as I had told you," the older man spoke up.

"Yeah, yeah, I made off with the suit," Jay made a face at him. "What was I supposed to do—let the cops find it and start poking their noses into who might have been wearing it?" He noticed the look on the curator's face. "Hey, you said you did your research on me. You know I'm the son of a cop. Even if I'm not interested in wearing a badge myself someday, I've heard enough shop-talk from my old man about crime-scene investigations and detective work all my life, enough to know I could've maybe left DNA samples inside the suit through my sweat or body hair or whatever. I wasn't about to let any of it get traced back to me and embarrass Dad, knowing how he feels about unsanctioned vigilantism. Keeping secrecy, just like you said, right?"

Curator Myles shook his head a little, but all the same he couldn't suppress his tiny smirk. "That same thought about the police crossed my mind. I suppose I didn't give you enough credit after all, then."

Jay regarded the old man for a moment. "You know…maybe it's a good thing you're here," he said. "I'm thinking of taking the suit for a test run, see what else it can do, so I don't go blindly into another fight like yesterday. You had it in storage—maybe you know what it's capable of."

"You actually intend to hold onto the suit, then?" asked Curator Myles.

"Considering everybody expects to see the Flash again after what happened at the museum, would it really make any sense to return it at this point? I'm invested now, whether we both like it or not," said Jay. "So spill, old man. What do you know about this suit's capabilities?"

"I know about as much as you do, actually," admitted Curator Myles. "When I got it, I never even knew it could give anybody superpowers. All I was told was to safeguard it. But maybe we can take a look at it and see what makes it tick, eh?"

"No problem, then, Curator, I'll just go fetch it. You wanna make yourself at home? Can I, uh, get you anything, or something?" Jay queried.

"No, no, I'm quite fine, but thanks for the offer," said the curator, sitting down at the dining table. "And please, we're not exactly in a formal situation just now. Dexter will do."

"Okay, then, Dexter." Jay went to the bedroom, where he'd stashed the suit in a safe spot. "Dorky name you got," he muttered under his breath as he left.

Dexter ignored his last remark. "So…a basketball scholarship, eh?"

"Yeah, I was always hoping to go pro in the NBA someday, and fortunately Central City U was scouting for talent for the Thunderbolts one day, and then just like that, I got the scholarship," replied Jay, coming out now with the costume in his arms. "Okay, here we go."

In a moment the costume was spread out on the table, and the duo examined it carefully. "All right, now that we're in a position to give this suit a close look under good lighting, look here," said Dexter. "Notice these fine yellow lines that run here and there about the costume, almost like little borders around the red sections of the suit?"

"Yeah, I noticed them, all right…kinda reminded me of that old movie, _Tron,_ except these lines are finer than the ones on the suits in that show," remarked Jay.

"Ah, you know your classics!" Dexter nodded approvingly. "All right. Since you clearly don't possess super-speed without the costume, my theory is that perhaps there's some kind of technology embedded in the costume that allows you to run much faster than usual when you wear it…probably not as fast as the original Flash in his prime, since his speed came by unnatural means…"

"Unnatural means?" asked Jay.

"You didn't see that section of the exhibit at the museum?" Dexter looked surprised. "At one point in his career, the first Flash told very briefly of how he got his powers…lightning struck a rack of chemicals, the chemicals splashed all over him, and he got imbued with the power to run faster than any mortal man!"

"Instead of getting fried," Jay deadpanned.

"…ahem. Anyway, it would seem the suit's technology simulates that speed in lieu of you having true super-speed, and the tech's so sophisticated that you can't tell by just looking that it's anything more than a regular costume," Dexter resumed. "I suppose the yellow 'Tron' lines are really the only indicator that this costume is more than just spandex. Revolutionary, even with our modern advances in nanotechnology, I dare say."

"How about these gloves?" Jay pointed to the suit's yellow gloves. "The usual Flash suits have lightning bolts along the wrists, right? But these gloves each look like three separate pieces connected together and attached to a yellow hand-covering…and they're all ridged somewhat, too."

"Perhaps they're there to defend against weapon attacks," suggested Dexter, and he rapped a knuckle against one of the bracers. "It certainly feels and sounds solid enough to fend off an iron pipe, if I should estimate it."

"Okay…fair enough. And these earpieces?" Jay held up the mask, pointing out the yellow ear-coverings.

Taking the mask from the younger man, Dexter fiddled with one of the earpieces—and to both their surprise, it opened on a small pair of hinges to reveal a yellow button inside. "Hmm, how about that!" Dexter exclaimed. "Put on the mask and touch the button—see what it does."

Sliding the mask on, Jay pressed the button. At once a police dispatcher's voice sounded in his ear: _"We've got a report of a possible break-in at a warehouse over on Seventh Avenue in the Mounds View area; all available units in that location, please respond."_ Then, seconds later, a reply: _"Roger that, dispatch. Squad car number 308 responding; we're on the way."_

"Hmm. This taps into the local police dispatcher frequency," Jay reported, pressing the button again. "And the button switches the frequency on or off. Pretty cool." He then swung the earpiece back into place and locked it shut. "And to lock it, I just twist the middle of the earpiece this way," demonstrating with a slight wrist movement, "and to unlock it and open it again, I just twist it the other way."

"What about the other earpiece?" said Dexter.

Jay opened the opposing earpiece and pressed the button he found there. All at once, right in front of his vision, there appeared an address book listing! "Whoa! Looks like this one's for storing phone numbers or something!" he declared. "I can see an address book…maybe the cowl acts like some kind of mini-computer for that kind of storage!"

"Is that right? Then let's test how it works, shall we?" said Dexter. "Try storing my name and phone number. Dexter Myles, 356-8989."

"Dexter Myles, 356-8989," Jay repeated—and before his vision, the name and phone number were swiftly written out. "Uh, save," he added, and just like that, the number was saved. "Hey, cool!"

"Let me see…there's another button next to that one you pressed," Dexter observed. "It looks like a button for making or receiving calls. Try it."

Jay pressed the button—but nothing happened. "Call Dexter Myles," he said aloud, and pressed the button again…and at once a cellular phone began to ring.

"That's my phone," said Dexter, pulling it out and answering it. "Hello?" he whispered, eyeing Jay.

The old man's voice sounded clearly in Jay's ear. "Yeah, definitely works," he chuckled, shutting the earpiece. "So now I'm a walking telephone!"

"I've heard that the Batman's current Bat-suit has a myriad of different functions to it," said Dexter, hanging up his phone. "Maybe this costume was designed with the same idea in mind?"

"Maybe—but whoever built this one put a whole lot more into it than the Bat-suit's creator did for that one. Super-speed tech, for one thing." Jay grinned. "Say, Dex, want to help me find a good place to really give this suit a test drive?"

"Sounds like a plan. You wouldn't want anyone to just come in suddenly and find you examining this suit, anyway," said Dexter. "There's a mountainous area half a mile outside the city on the north side."

"So what're we waiting for?" asked Jay. "Let's go!"

OOOOO

Two minutes later, clad in his full scarlet costume, the Flash dashed out to the mountainous zone north of the city, carrying Dexter in his arms. "Well, here we are," he announced, setting the old man on his feet.

"Impressive!" said Dexter, looking around at the hills and peaks surrounding the open field where they now stood. "From the university's locale it would normally take about an hour to get out here, discounting traffic…but you made it in far less time than that!"

"Yeah, well, I guess that's how it is when you're the fastest man alive," said Flash. "So, how's this gonna go now? Any suggestions?"

"Well—" began Dexter—but all at once, the ground beneath them quivered lightly, then with greater force, causing both of them to stumble and fall over. "Goodness! An earthquake!"

"Another one? After that shake-up last night?" exclaimed Flash, trying to keep himself oriented amidst the shaking.

Then, just like that, the rumbling lessened and died away. "That wasn't pleasant," Dexter grumbled, picking himself back up.

"Consider yourselves lucky the ground didn't shake hard enough to make these mountains come down around you!"

Flash and Dexter's heads snapped up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice—and on a high ridge just above them, they beheld a man in a blue battle-suit with yellow designs on the torso. "I take it you're that new speedster hero everybody in Central City's been buzzing about?" the new arrival inquired. "I don't know how you and your elderly friend managed to track me here, but I won't allow you to stop me!"

"_Stop_ you? Hey, man, we don't even _know_ you!" Flash said defensively.

"Oh? Uh, my bad, then," and the stranger suddenly appeared sheepish.

Dexter cocked an eyebrow as he considered the man. "By any chance, do you have anything to do with the tremor at that hotel last night?" he called up to him.

"Guilty as charged," the stranger readily replied. "You can call me Shockwave. I was giving a little test run to my new battle-suit here," and he held up his fists to indicate his outfit, "and I dare say it works like a charm."

"Look, I don't know why you did that, but 67 people got hurt at the Golden Rainbow Hotel because of your little 'test'," Flash said sourly. "You need to take responsibility for that."

But Shockwave shrugged carelessly. "I'm not the one who told those people to be in the hotel when I made the quake hit," he said. "Have you ever tried to make an omelet without breaking some eggs? Same principle applies here—if people got hurt in that place, too bad."

Flash narrowed his eyes beneath his cowl. "Wrong answer!" And then he dashed up toward Shockwave's position, jumping from stone to stone as he did so.

Smirking, Shockwave quickly turned his fists to the ground in Flash's direction. Seconds later both fists glowed bright blue—then an equally-colored pulse-wave shot out from his fists and hit the ground, tearing into the earth and shifting the underlying rocks enough that Flash stumbled and lost his balance just five feet away from the other masked man.

"Whoooaaaa!" Flash cried out as he fell all the way back down the slope he'd just run up, bouncing along the still-shifting ground as he fell before landing on the flat level below with a solid thud.

"Flash! Are you all right?" Dexter called to him.

"I'll live, old man," Flash replied, picking himself up shakily and dusting himself off. "Doesn't look like the suit got any damage either—pretty tough material it's made of."

"From the sound of it, it seems your costume is highly functional and durable. Good for you," Shockwave's voice reached his ears. "My battle-suit is pretty much the same—I designed it to protect me from the effects of my own vibro-pulse energy generation. And…" Here his fists began to glow again. "If you can't keep a steady footing, Flash, you can't run effectively! Ergo, you can't fight me!"

So saying, he fired another vibro-wave toward Flash, who promptly dashed out of the way; the space that the speedster had just occupied got freshly blown up from the force of Shockwave's attack even as the surrounding area got rocked. Still in mid-run, Flash staggered around as the crazy jarring of the ground made it difficult for him just to stand up straight. _This is not going well!_

"Of course, just shaking the ground isn't all I can do," Shockwave spoke up. "My vibro-waves are quite capable of smashing through solid concrete or even bone. Care for a more direct demonstration?" and he now turned one fist directly at Flash.

His vision disoriented by the effects of the tremors on his surroundings, Flash was only just able to see the vibro-wave coming at him. Quickly he dived and rolled out of the way, and kept rolling as Shockwave directed the business end of the jackhammer at him. "What's wrong, Flash? You seem quite…_shaken up!"_ Shockwave taunted him as the earth continued to shift here and there from his actions.

Cringing at the obvious pun, Flash nevertheless chose to ignore it. "Dexter, get clear!" he shouted as he managed to leap to his feet and dash away a little.

"Already done!" Dexter called to him, hiding behind a rock some distance away even as his voice and his whole body trembled from the continuous vibrations.

Flash turned his eyes back to Shockwave. _Keep moving…keep moving…tough to do right now, but if I stand still and he nails me with a direct blast from that thing, who knows what'll happen to me, even with this suit!_

Then Flash's eye caught sight of the various rocks that were being jarred loose from the surrounding ridges by Shockwave's tremor-creations. _All right—a long shot, but better than nothing!_

As quickly as he could, he gathered up several stones and flung them in the villain's general direction. His sense of aim was being dislodged by the rocking earth affecting his perception, and thus several of the stones either went far wide of the target or didn't go high enough, but one stone soon found its mark—right in the middle of Shockwave's face.

"Gyaa!" Shockwave briefly stopped firing his vibro-waves out of astonishment at the stone hitting him. Momentarily distracted by the lingering feeling of pain, he tightened his fists and prepared to fire another series of blasts—but as he prepared to do so, he saw a red streak coursing back up toward him.

The Flash came face-to-face with him—and the vibro-wave was fired from both fists.

And then Flash went airborne, screaming, and slammed into a nearby rock-face, remaining pinned there for a good few seconds before falling down the rocky slope and crashing to the ground.

"Whew…" Shockwave breathed a relieved sigh. "That was just a little too close. Another second and he might've got me." He regarded Flash's fallen form. "Well, that blast should've smashed through your bones, like I said…but just to make sure…"

He aimed both fists at the rock where Flash had briefly been flung, and triggered the vibro-waves again. The resulting energy-blast tore through the rock, with the quake vibrations ripping into the giant stone and breaking it apart. Moments later, the rock—now shaken and torn into smaller stones of still-considerable size—rained down on the immobile Flash, burying him.

Watching all this from where he was, Dexter was horrified. "No…no!" he screamed out. Forgetting himself and his age, he jumped up and ran over to the huge rock-pile, promptly digging the stones away with his bare hands. "No, boy, you can't be dead—not like this! Come on, come on, come on!"

"Heh." Shockwave's fists tightened and glowed again. "You obviously care about your speedster pal, old geezer…maybe I should bury you alongside him?" He pointed one fist at Dexter.

Dexter froze where he was, only turning his terrified face slightly in Shockwave's direction.

Shockwave's fist glowed brighter…and then the glow subsided. "On second thought, I've got a better use for you. Head on back to town, old man, and let everybody know that Shockwave killed Central City's new champion. Once the word gets out, nobody's gonna want to stand in my way again." Then he turned his back and walked away. "See you around."

Dexter's breath came out in a sharp exhaling motion as the realization sank in that the villain had just spared his life. Watching until he was certain Shockwave's figure was well out of sight, he turned and resumed digging the stones away from on top of Flash. Right now, he didn't care that this kind of job would require more than just one pair of hands, or that those hands would need to be stronger than his own which were hampered by age. He had to do _something._

He couldn't allow this legacy that had revived just yesterday to be buried so soon.

OOOOO

A few minutes later, Shockwave reached the black RV he'd been using as his mode of long-distance transport and climbed inside. Breathing deeply, he pulled off his mask, revealing the face of a man in his mid-30s with dark brown hair. Heading to a nearby cooler, he reached inside and pulled out a bottle of root beer; twisting the cap off, he flopped down on a settee and tilted the bottle to his lips, drinking deeply and savoring the harsh after-taste that remained in his mouth.

In all honesty, Arnold Pruett hadn't expected to face off against the speedster, or indeed that any superheroes at all might get involved with what he was doing or try to stop him. His being here in Central City was supposed to be a simple thing—just to do what he'd come to do and then leave.

_Okay, so I heard about this Flash guy just yesterday, but I didn't think I'd actually have to face him. Still, it turned out all good anyway—I kept him from being able to run properly, and even at that last second when he almost got me, I managed to nail him. A victory by the skin of my teeth, maybe, but still a victory._

His eyes narrowed in deep thought as he recounted the original reason he'd come to this area in the first place. Up to two years ago, he'd been an architect of great repute, the go-to man for designing buildings that could withstand any natural disaster, be it earthquakes, floods or hurricanes. From Gotham City to Midway City to Coast City, he'd had clients who were more than satisfied with his work and dozens more who he always had to make appointments for because so many of them wanted to hire him to draft building plans for them, whether the buildings were for skyscrapers or mere shanties.

_I used to be among the best of the best,_ he recounted bitterly. _Until that time…that one building…just one building ruined me…tore down my reputation…_

He remembered it all too clearly. Two years ago in October, one apartment complex he'd designed in Gotham failed to withstand the battering force of a particularly vicious storm during the scheduled hurricane season. The owners blamed him, claiming his work wasn't up to the standard he'd advertised, and the following lawsuit throughout the next year was enough to drive away all potential customers and for his preying competitors to dive down like vultures and pick away at what was left of his professional dignity by sweeping up all of his formerly loyal clients.

Fortunately, Pruett still had a fair enough amount of money after his legal fees were dealt with—and he had an agenda. He'd been wronged, and he was going to make that wrong right. So he'd rigged his special jackhammer and designed his suit with one purpose in mind.

Revenge.

_Oh, how I'd have loved to tear Gotham City apart…but that would've been too obvious. Better to act from a distance, a little here, a little there, and hit those scavengers where I know it'll hurt them most. If I can't have the respect I deserve, then they deserve to lose everything they've built, too._

Finishing his root beer, he deposited the empty bottle in a nearby bin and went to the bathroom. Moments later, he'd changed into a plain grey T-shirt and faded blue jeans, his costume hung up in a closet, and he went to the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition.

_I still have one other place to "rock" here in Central City…but I'll wait a little while, give everybody a little breather, make them think the quakes are gone and done. I can't have too many quakes in too short a time-span…the seismic analysts in the area will get suspicious if that happens. Doesn't matter…I can afford to wait. I've already waited a long, long time for this, anyway. Meantime, I can just savor the results of what I did at the Golden Rainbow last night, see whether any of those rich saps decide to sue for emotional trauma or some such little thing…_

OOOOO

Dexter was still removing the stones from the huge heap as quickly as he could manage. In the last few minutes so far he'd moved a substantial amount of them, but the Scarlet Speedster remained buried nonetheless. _Hang on, boy, just hang on!_ Dexter silently begged as he rolled rock after rock from off the pile.

At last, exhausted from his effort, he sat down on the ground and leaned back on what remained of the rock-pile. "I'm sorry, young fellow," he whispered. "I'm just a weak old man at the end of it all…"

The sun shone down brightly on the surrounding scenery. From where he sat, Dexter could see Central City in the distance. He closed his eyes tightly, recalling how the city hadn't even gotten a body to bury after the original Flash pulled the ultimate sacrifice during the near-apocalypse of 2009. Was it to be deprived a second time of its protector, with no opportunity to properly mourn, despite this one's having only been active one day?

"No."

His strength revitalized by the determined rage, the reminders of his old age aggressively pushed back by the far stronger force of allegiance, he turned back to the pile and began shoveling the rocks off the pile with a vengeance.

"Central City had to mourn your predecessor without a body to bury," Dexter declared aloud as he shoveled the rocks with his hands. "But so help me, I will not allow these people to go through that a second time. At least this time, the Flash can be buried inside his museum, or underneath it, or wherever it's decided—but I swear, I won't leave you out in the middle of nowhere! You hear me, boy?" he cried, his voice choking.

And he nearly jumped out of his skin as a red-gloved, yellow-gloved hand suddenly shot out from the remnants of the rocks, followed seconds later by a second similarly-clad hand. Staring for a moment before regaining his senses, Dexter immediately and with renewed vigor shoveled the stones from around the two hands, until more of the arms could be seen. Then he stood back as, on their own, the hands proceeded to toss off stones far faster than he himself had been removing them, fingers moving in a blur, until finally the Flash was able to pull himself out of the stony heap.

Flash breathed heavily as he raised himself up by his hands. His suit was dusty from the stones that had so recently been piled on top of him, but otherwise, Dexter noted with intense relief, he was alive. Then he looked up at the older man. "I hear you loud and clear, old man. Tell the undertaker to postpone my funeral."

Dexter chuckled a little, even as he squinted to keep back the physical emotion that threatened to burst out. "You had me worried a little while, Jay," he remarked.

"Heh…I guess I have the suit to thank, once again. It sure can take a beating." Carefully Flash stood up. "Still feel kind of sore, though," he admitted, holding his midsection where Shockwave's vibro-wave blast had hit him, "but nothing seems to be broken."

Then his eyes narrowed and the smirk disappeared from his face. "Now. Where—is—Shockwave?"

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 3**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: A bit of chapter commentary now. In the original DC Comics, Shockwave—who's basically DC's counterpart to Marvel Comics' Shocker, one of Spider-Man's most popular enemies—was an adversary to Booster Gold, Blue Beetle and Blue Devil, and was a member of the criminal network known as the 100 (later the 1000). His back-story in this fic, however, comes from a different DC Comics villain, the Quakemaster, real name Robert Coleman. In the original draft for this story which was previously on this site, I had Quakemaster and Shockwave as separate villains, but in re-editing the whole work, I decided to combine them into one character; a composite character, as it were.

Coming up next chapter—Jay prepares for a rematch with Shockwave, in the process discovering where the villain plans to strike next! Can the Flash stop Shockwave's revenge scheme before more innocent people are hurt by one man's vendetta? Next chapter—_Aftershocks!_


	4. Aftershocks

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 4: Aftershocks**

"…I see." Flash frowned a little, taking in what Dexter had just told him. "Shockwave thinks I'm dead. Well, considering the slamming I took from his vibro-wave attacks, I'm not surprised he'd think so." He patted his midsection, where he'd been struck by Shockwave's attacks earlier. "I have to say, old man, whoever built this suit built it to last and endure. If not for this, maybe…"

"That man is a dangerous man, that's for certain," Dexter frowned along with him. "And now there's no way to tell where he's gone to or what he'll do next."

"Yeah," Flash agreed with a sour grimace. "I doubt he'll just pop up and announce himself—and people will just pass off this latest bunch of tremors as a fresh act of nature. So what do I do?"

Dexter stroked his beard as he pondered the question. "For now, there's nothing that can be done," he finally conceded. "All I can recommend is that you head home and rest—give yourself a chance to heal from your injuries. The suit may have absorbed the brunt of damage and still be functioning, but the man in the suit needs to be rested and rejuvenated if he's going to function later on. Besides, if Shockwave thinks you're dead, by staying low now you'll have the element of surprise when next you may meet him."

"No arguments there," and Flash again patted his midsection. "Okay, then, I'll just drop you off at the Flash Museum and then head back to my place."

"No, drop me at my house," said Dexter. "The Flash Museum is still taped off by the police—they said they'd let me know when it'll be open to the public again."

"Oh, fine, then. Just direct me where to go and I'll take you there," said Flash.

OOOOO

A short while later, Jay was back at home, and he promptly stripped himself of his costume, stored it away where he knew it would stay secret, and dropped down on his bed.

Immediately he was reminded of his body still being sore from the fight with Shockwave when his muscles and joints flared up in protest at his having dropped down the way he did.

_Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Stupid Shockwave._

He'd promised Dexter to keep a low profile as the Flash as long as the vibration-shooting villain was out there, sure, but he hadn't promised not to sulk about the battering he'd gotten from said villain earlier that morning. Could he really help it, after all, that the man had weapons built into his gloves that could have so easily neutralized his ability to run effectively, never mind turned him into pudding if the Flash suit hadn't somehow absorbed the brunt of the blasts? And even more humiliating, Shockwave had actually managed to nail him point-blank with said glove-cannons and then dumped a whole bunch of rocks right on top of him. Not the most glorious way to end a fight, that was for certain.

_Oh, man…I feel like I got hit by a wrecking ball…_

His train of thought was interrupted by the noise of the front door opening and shutting. "Hey, Jay, you here?" Barry called.

"You're back already? I thought you'd still be burying your nose in the books over at the campus library," Jay commented.

"Well, unlike _some _of us, I'm going to be making the best use of my time for the next few hours," said Barry, coming into the room. "I have to study for a mock exam first thing on Monday…"

He paused as he regarded his twin. "What happened to you? You look like a boulder fell on you."

Jay had to resist chuckling at how true that statement was. "Oh, nothing…just went out for a run and now I'm sore all over," he answered.

"Better be careful or else you'll take it a step too far like all the other sports fanatics out there," said Barry, shaking his head.

"I could say the same thing to you about your bookworm habits—you ought to learn to get out more often," Jay rebutted. "No wonder you got picked on so much in high school."

"And the greater majority of those incidents were _your_ fault, or is your memory just that selective?" Barry frowned.

"Let it go, bro, let it go. That's ancient history now," Jay waved it off. "Well, if you're going to be studying here, I guess I might as well head on over to the campus and chill out a while. Wouldn't want to be responsible for you failing an exam that won't even count toward your final grade," he added acerbically as he got up.

"Right, right," Barry answered, setting down his book-bag and opening it. "Hmm, now where'd I put that textbook…?"

OOOOO

A short while later, Jay jogged onto the campus of Central City University, clad in a light-blue sweat-suit with matching sneakers. "I wonder if the cafeteria's got any good chow today," he wondered aloud.

"Hey, Jay!"

Looking up at the shout, Jay smirked as he recognized one of his team-mates from the school's basketball team, John Fox. "Johnny-boy! How goes it?" he called back.

John was a raven-haired youth, about as tall as Jay and one academic year behind, but already he'd made a name for himself as the Thunderbolts' center, able to frustrate opponents by destroying their chances to shoot and score or alternatively zipping through the other team's defenses to shoot from difficult angles. Now as he approached Jay, he slapped his team-mate on the shoulder with a grin on his face. "Back at you!" he answered.

Jay flinched at the slap. John noticed. "Whoa, sorry, dude," he said. "You hurt yourself?"

"Just a bit of exercise I was doing earlier," Jay answered. "Still kind of sore from it, but I'll live."

"You'd better," said John. "Remember, we're scheduled for a friendly match with the Midway University Lions tomorrow night."

At that Jay slapped his palm on his forehead in exasperation. "Oh, _slag_ it! I totally forgot about that!"

"Where's your brain all of a sudden—Wonderland?" asked John, amused. "This match is supposed to be both sides' preparation for the college regional tournament starting next month. There's a lot riding on the final match at the end of it, you know."

"Yeah," Jay nodded. "Some big-league talent scouts will be watching to see who they can get to go into the NBA. Millions in big-league contracts and all that."

"Got that right," John nodded. "Although, with what's been happening, right now I can't help but wonder if we're going to be pushed back on schedule for a bit…" His look darkened.

"What do you mean?" asked Jay.

John pulled his backpack off his shoulders, reached into it and produced a rolled-up newspaper. "The campus newsletter just got distributed ten minutes ago," he explained. "You know about the tremor that shook up the Golden Rainbow Hotel last night, right? Apparently one of the wise guys working for the school paper decided to have a couple of words with the hotel's architect."

"Why would they do that? What's CCU got to do with the hotel?" Jay was confused.

John opened the newspaper and pointed to an article inside. "It says here that Trinity Builders, the architecture company behind the Golden Rainbow's design draft, is the same company that did the design for the university's multi-purpose stadium and oversaw its construction a year and a half ago. Look at this—the article's asking if Trinity Builders' executives are scared people might call their skills into question after what happened to the hotel."

"Okay…so?" Jay cocked an eyebrow.

"So use your brain for a second, Jay—if people are scared of a building caving in on them, are they gonna go there?" John pointed out. "Some people here on campus are already jittery about it—we know there was a quake last night, and just earlier today there were more tremors. With these quakes happening in the area, I don't think anybody will want to be inside any building and have its ceiling drop on their heads—that's just one reason the folks at the Golden Rainbow got hurt last night."

Jay rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "All right…so what now, in the meantime?"

"Coach says to wait until 3:00 today; by then we ought to hear from the school administration whether we'll get the go-ahead to play tomorrow night or not," replied John.

"If that's the case, then there's really nothing we can do." Jay frowned a little. "Hey, could I borrow this paper?"

"No worries, you can have it," replied John. "They're all over the campus anyway."

"Thanks!" And with that, Jay parted ways with his friend and immediately made a beeline for the campus's computer lab. He had some reading to do.

OOOOO

A short while later, Jay was sitting in front of one of the computer lab's terminals and was browsing the World Wide Web for anything he could find on Trinity Builders. He opened page after page, learning as he went along, and printed whatever he could find for later reference.

_Every little helps,_ he thought to himself as he searched.

So far, he knew, the quakes in the city's vicinity had only truly affected one site, the Golden Rainbow; the other buildings from last night's quake had likewise suffered damage, but as far as the latest updates were concerned, the hotel had suffered the most extensive damage out of this incident in terms of cost since it had been at the very center of the shockwaves. That this Trinity Builders company was the architect behind the hotel might turn out to be purely incidental, but since Shockwave himself had claimed responsibility for the damage to the Golden Rainbow, Jay decided he couldn't dismiss or overlook anything.

_Here's what I'll do…I'll check Trinity Builders' full history, see if they've made any enemies in the past…I can't establish a pattern here as yet, since Shockwave's only done one major shaking that caused this kind of infrastructure damage, but maybe if I can trace their history backwards and see what's what in their past, then I'll find a clue. Or…maybe I could wait for the next major quake to try and establish a pattern…but…if the next quake happens and the building at the center of it wasn't designed by Trinity Builders, it'll only prove one thing I already know—that Shockwave's a grade-A nut-job._

Jay's brow furrowed more deeply as his train of thought continued. _Then again…maybe the quake was part of a scam by the Golden Rainbow's owners to get a hold of the hotel's insurance coverage for themselves, and they hired Shockwave to give them a convenient way to grab it…_

Opening a browser window, he did some deep research into the hotel's history. _Nope, scratch that…since their grand opening a year and five months ago after construction was completed, they've been raking in reasonable profits on a month-by-month and season-by-season basis…and this past spring season they recorded the highest room-booking ratings for all hotels in the state. That means they're doing pretty well for themselves…_

He clicked the mouse button a few more times. _Back to Trinity Builders, then…just a couple of minor projects in the past eleven months, three houses that just finished completion a little over three months ago…in all these cases the designs were articulate, the construction was completed in record time, and the clients were people with credits to spend. Hmm._

Click, click, click.

_Prior to two years ago, Trinity Builders was an average architecture company, based out of Gotham City, having as its slogan the promise that any building it designed could be built in shorter time than the average company might promise, but with emphasis on safety. Then, two years ago, when its chief competitor's lead designer got embroiled in a lawsuit over a building that failed to withstand a hurricane, Trinity Builders was one of the companies to whom the designer's clients went as a replacement._

His eyes narrowed. He looked back at the previous information again. _The Golden Rainbow. CCU's multi-purpose stadium. All these other projects that Trinity Builders has pulled off in the last two years. Hmm…I wonder…_

Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.

_Only two of the company's projects are here in Central City—the hotel and the stadium._ He clicked several more times. _Their other works are spread out in Gotham, Midway and Coast Cities. Hmm…no reports of seismic activity in any of those locations concerning those particular buildings in recent times…_

He gritted his teeth. _Okay, Shockwave, I know your next target now. Or at least it's an educated guess. The question is—when?_

Quickly he printed off whatever information he could get—the computer lab only had so much paper, after all, and it wouldn't be fair to deprive other students just to satisfy himself—and then he left. He had more work to do.

It was only a hunch, he knew, but if the hunch was right, the school would be in danger. And he had to get as much up to speed on Shockwave's potential activities as he could.

That, of course, meant more reading of the info he'd just gleaned, to make sure it was right and to make sure it was consistent with his theory. He decided to head for the library.

_I guess it's fitting that a cop's son is now playing detective. Heh._

OOOOO

Ten minutes later found Jay on the library's second floor, where he knew the university kept an electronic newspaper archive that was dated up to ten years back. Finding a table where he felt sure he wouldn't be disturbed, he set his printed papers down on it and then went to the archive window, where a student worker was manning the electronic data and distributing printed copies of headlines to inquiring students. "Excuse me," he spoke up.

The student worker was a young woman with curly blond hair, thin-framed glasses and a rather delicate demeanor about her. On hearing Jay's voice, she looked up. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asked in a soft, almost shy, tone of voice.

"I'm looking for newspaper editions out of Gotham City, dated 2053," said Jay. "Specifically, anything and everything to do with the Trinity Builders architecture company."

"Okay, just give me a minute," the girl replied. "Let's see…Trinity Builders…Gotham City…okay, there are fifty-five entries here. Could you be a little more specific?"

"Try narrowing it down to the company having anything to do with lawsuits with its competitors," Jay instructed.

The girl complied with the data entry. "That narrows it down to ten stories," she informed him a moment later, "all of them to do with the same court case."

"Okay, could I have copies of the first two stories and the last two?" said Jay.

"I'll print them now," the girl answered. Then she looked up at Jay. "Um…excuse me, you're one of the university's star basketball players, aren't you?"

"Yep, that's me," Jay replied. "I'm Jay West. And you are?"

"Gail Manners." A light blush appeared on her cheeks. "Pardon me, but I'm kind of surprised a guy like you could be interested in things like this…you don't seem the type."

"Eh, I'm just doing a little research," Jay told her. "But it sounds to me as though you'd get along well with my brother. You know him? Barry West, red hair, nose always in a book?"

Gail considered this information. "You know, come to think of it, I do recall seeing somebody like that in a couple of my science classes," she remembered. "Yes, you're twins, aren't you? But you're as different as night and day…you're a sports person, he's more of a scholar."

"…that's one way to look at it, I guess," said Jay.

Presently Gail turned to the printer next to her computer. "Okay, here you go," she said, handing the printed information to Jay. "I hope you find what you're looking for in your research."

"Thanks a bunch," said Jay, and with that he turned and walked back to his table. Watching him leave her window a moment, Gail soon turned back to her own duties.

OOOOO

Arnold Pruett sat back on his settee inside his RV, munching on a sandwich and watching television. _There's got to be a better way to pass the time than watching boring old reruns,_ he thought to himself in disgust.

Then, as quickly, he shook his head. _Never mind…stick to the original plan, and it'll all work out just fine._

He briefly wondered if the old geezer whose life he'd spared had managed to make it back to town yet, and if he had, whether he'd started spreading the word about the Flash's demise. So far he hadn't heard any rumors about it among the townspeople yet, but he had heard a lot of running commentary about the Scarlet Speedster's fight with the Trickster yesterday, as well as much speculation about what sort of person the red-clad hero must be behind his mask.

Well, it didn't matter to him who this new Flash really was. Since he'd been buried under that pile of rocks back at the scene of their earlier fight, whatever his real name was, was now a moot point anyway.

He took another bite of the sandwich and switched the TV station to the local sports channel. At once a video of the local college basketball circuit came on: _"Central City basketball fans are currently waiting with bated breath to hear the verdict from its local university about whether tomorrow night's game with the Midway University Lions will continue as scheduled or be postponed, in light of last night's quake and the smaller tremors that were experienced a short while earlier. For their part, Midway University's coaches are hoping the game won't be put off and that the only tremors to be expected will be on the court, as top-level NBA recruiters are expected to be in attendance, scoping out the competition on both sides to decide which of the best players will be approached to offer a contract with after that player's graduation."_

Pruett chomped on his sandwich again. It didn't matter to him whether they postponed or played on schedule when next he should strike. If nobody was at the stadium when he should trigger his next quake, then there would be no worries. If people should be there, then too bad—wrong place, wrong time.

He'd never been a basketball lover anyway.

OOOOO

It was almost two hours later when Jay finally left the library, tucking the papers he's gotten into his pocket. Since the basketball court wasn't far away, he decided to head over there and see if there was any update on the school's potential game with the Midway Lions, whether cancelled or proceeding.

_Either way, I'll have to keep a real open eye out for Shockwave in case he strikes again._

By and by arriving at the court, he saw several of his team-mates gathered around, looking pensive. "Yo, guys, what's the word on the game?" he greeted them.

"Coach Rudolph is still in a meeting with the university president," one of the other players spoke up. "He said we'd get updated by 3:00, but it's 3:15 now!" he added, pointing to his watch to emphasize the point.

"I feel your pain," said Jay, shaking his head. "Ah, well, what to do but wait a little while longer, right?"

Another player glanced up and behind Jay at that moment. "Look alive, guys—it's Coach Rudolph!" he exclaimed.

All the players stood at attention as Coach Rudolph, a broad-shouldered man with silver hair, approached the court. "Good news, boys," he spoke up. "The game continues tomorrow night."

"Yeah! All right!" the players whooped.

"Now listen up," the coach added. "All of you get back to your dorms and your rentals, and get as much rest as you can between tonight and tomorrow morning. Because tomorrow night, we're gonna make sure we play a good game against the Midway Lions—and make sure you impress the recruiters who'll be coming to see you play. I'm looking for all of you to do your very best—one of you might be the next NBA sensation," and here he flashed a brief glance at Jay. "You got it?"

"Yes, Coach!" the players all answered.

Jay nodded in turn. _Let's just hope no stupid earthquakes come to screw this chance up…_

OOOOO

A little while later Jay got back home, and so absorbed in his thoughts was he that he barely acknowledged the fact that Barry was sitting on the couch, watching TV. "Welcome back," Barry greeted him.

"Yeah, yeah," Jay grunted at him. "Done studying already?"

"I've decided to take a break," replied Barry. "It _is_ the weekend now, and even someone trying to keep up a high GPA has to take a break once in a while."

"Before you break your brain, no doubt," Jay sniped at him. "Anyway, while you worry about your GPA, I'm gonna be playing the game against Midway University tomorrow night. Just got the word that we're cleared to play."

"Assuming no more earthquakes happen, of course," Barry interjected.

"Uh-huh," Jay said seriously. "So, you coming to the game tomorrow, or what?"

"Oh, come on, Jay. Since when have you ever known me to be interested in anything sports-related?" replied Barry.

"Ah, right. How silly of me. Let bookworms stay happy being bookworms," and with that Jay prepared to leave the room.

_Knock, knock. _"Hello?" Daphne's voice sounded on the other side of the front door.

"Coming!" Barry's face lit up as he hurried to answer it. "Hey, Daphne…how'd class go today?"

"Hi, Barry," Daphne said in turn, lightly hugging Barry. "And Jay," she added in a decidedly less-friendly tone toward his twin. "No class today, the lecturer was out…he was one of the people who got hurt at the Golden Rainbow last night."

"What? You're kidding!" Barry and Jay were immediately at attention.

"He was having a family dinner with a relative from out of town when it happened…they weren't too badly hurt, but the lecturer sent word that today's class would be suspended." Daphne sat down. "Just what is happening all of a sudden? That quake last night, smaller quakes today…everybody I've come across today has been talking about it non-stop. I just hope this is the last of it…"

"Hopefully it is," Barry replied, trying to reassure her.

Daphne shrugged. "So…Barry, you thinking about going to the game tomorrow night? I hear it's still going to happen," she told him.

"Jay just mentioned it," said Barry. "As for me going, well, I don't know…you know I've never been really into sports…"

"At least come and give some support for the home team. Will you at least think about it?" Daphne smiled at him.

"Hmm…I'll think about it," said Barry, shrugging.

"Hey, whoa, whoa, what is this? I suggest it to you and you shoot me down, and Daphne suggests it and you do a complete 180? What's she got that I don't?" Jay complained.

"The right chromosomes, for one," Daphne stuck her tongue out at him. In response Jay made a face at her, but decided not to pursue that argument further.

OOOOO

The following night…

"Strike, strike, Thunderbolts! Strike, strike, Thunderbolts! Strike like lightning, roll like thunder! Tear the other team asunder! Strrrriiiiiike, THUNDERBOLTS!" the cheerleaders dod their choreography on the sidelines of the multi-purpose stadium's basketball court. In return, the Thunderbolts' supporters let loose with thunderous applause, piercing whistles and enthusiastic hollers while the cheerleaders kept up their movements.

In the team's changing room, Jay slipped on his Thunderbolt uniform—a yellow jersey with a red border-line along the collar and shoulders, with a big red lightning bolt on the back, and a matching yellow pair of shorts with similar red trim—and carefully laced up his basketball sneakers. Close by, John Fox and the other players were similarly preparing themselves to go out on the court and face the Midway University Lions, who were no pushovers themselves but who'd provide a tough challenge.

"All right, boys, time to get moving!" Coach Rudolph clapped his hands together to grab their attention. "Remember the game plan? Fox, you take center. West, you're power forward. Allen, point guard. Chambers, shooting guard. Garrick, small forward. The rest of you keep on standby." He turned to the five designated players. "Mark your targets on the Lions' side, don't let them sway you, keep the ball moving among yourselves, and give 'em a fight they'll never forget! Got it?"

"Yes, Coach!" they all replied.

"Good! Now get out there and strike the Lions where it hurts!" Coach Rudolph snapped.

All the team members gathered in a circle and put their hands on top of one another's in the center. "One, two, three, Thunderbolts!" they hooted, before rushing out of the changing room.

OOOOO

The black RV quietly pulled up some distance away from the university's front gate—parking any closer might arouse the suspicion of the on-duty guards, even if tonight was a Saturday night and no large crowds of people would therefore be expected to be about. Inside the van, Pruett got up from the driver's seat and pulled on his Shockwave outfit, ensuring in the process that his gauntlets were securely in place. Then he opened the van's sunroof and climbed up to it, positioning himself until he was in a place where he could get a good look at the campus.

The stadium was some distance from the main gate, but still large enough that it couldn't escape his line of sight. He smiled. This wouldn't be quite a perfect targeting position, but it would still be good enough to really make the structure rumble and cast tremors on the surrounding campus in the bargain.

He readied his fists as they began to glow with vibro-wave energy.

OOOOO

"Pass the ball, pass the ball!"

The Midway University Lions dribbled the ball back and forth among themselves, frustrating the Thunderbolts' defense by whooshing around the players but not immediately shooting to score, instead making every effort to tire out the opposition. The Thunderbolts, meanwhile, refused to be daunted, jumping to block any potential shots or even any attempts by the Lions to fire off the ball. The score was still tied so far at 0-0, but the supporters for both teams wouldn't let the deadlock stop them from cheering their team or booing the opponents.

"Roar, Lions! Roar, Lions!" the Lions' cheerleading squad screamed.

"Thunder-strike! Thunder-strike" the Thunderbolt cheerleaders defiantly yelled back.

The Lions' center player, currently in control of the ball, swerved past Chambers, ducked under Allen's lunging hands, and made to shoot…but Jay, already in position to block, jumped up and forward, slapping the ball away. However, one of his hands clipped the Lion on the forehead, and the other player landed hard on his side on the court.

The Lion immediately jumped up, teeth bared. "Hey, what was that?" he demanded.

"You being a pushover. What of it?" Jay replied with a nasty smirk.

"Jay, don't…" John, close by, warned him worriedly.

"You've been getting in my way all game, pal! I'll wipe this court with your head!" the Lion snarled, pushing himself up into Jay's face.

"Get out of my face before I _move_ you, Lion-cub," Jay rebutted, the smirk swiftly replaced with an ugly glare.

The referee's whistle was blown. "All right, break it up, you two!" he shouted, crossing over to where Jay and the other player stood.

"West, what d'you think you're doing?" Coach Rudolph asked, also coming over.

"Me? Nothing, Coach, nothing," answered Jay, putting on an innocent air. "It's this kitty-litter-wuss here, can't play to save his fur."

The Lion immediately slugged Jay in the face, knocking him back. Jay would have pounced on him right there and then were it not for John grabbing his jersey and pulling him back, while two of the Lion's team-mates likewise restrained him even as their coach rushed forward. "Down, Jay, down!" John cried, struggling with Jay.

"Saunders!" the Lions coach addressed the center. "What the heck was that? I warned you to cool it on the court! Get on the bench!"

"But, coach—" Saunders began.

"Bench! NOW!" the Lions coach exploded.

Saunders meekly complied, throwing a barbed glare at Jay as he retreated.

"Better keep your players in line—your boy hit mine first," Coach Rudolph warned the other coach.

Up in the stands, Barry and Daphne sat together, munching on popcorn and watching the fracas. "Some things never change…Jay was always a hothead on the court," Daphne sighed, popping a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"But the other guy threw the first punch here," Barry pointed out.

"Only because Jay provoked him—he's always been good at that, as you should well know," Daphne shook her head. "Anyway, I think I'm out of popcorn…" and she regarded her almost-empty bag.

"Already? You've got an appetite tonight," Barry teased.

"Oh, whatever. Just shut up and share your popcorn, okay?" Daphne reached over to nab some from Barry's bag—and paused. "Barry, are you trembling?"

"What? No…" Then Barry noticed something. "Uh, why is my popcorn bag shaking?"

_Rrrrrrrrrr…_

A slight tremor swept through the stadium, gradually noticed by spectators and players alike. Jay's eyes widened as he and the others on the court began to sway back and forth involuntarily. _Oh, no…!_

Then a window just above the stands cracked. A girder in the ceiling groaned from the pressure of the shaking.

And the spectators' panic began in full swing.

"Whoa!" Barry exclaimed as, all around him, persons frantically jumped up from their seats and made a rush for the closest exit. "Daphne!"

"I'm still here!" Daphne cried to him. "The crowd's too thick—we'll be trampled! Come on!" Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to his feet and began to push through the crowd as well.

Down on the court, all the players were in equal panic mode; forgotten was the threatened brawl of a moment ago. Jay, for his part, took a quick glance around and wildly debated whether to run for the exit as everyone else in the stands was doing. But Coach Rudolph's commanding voice settled the matter for him: "Move over to the side and stay there! Crouch and cover your heads!"

"What he said!" the Lions coach yelled to his players.

Both sides promptly obeyed, even as the shaking got more violent. Glass shattered out of the windows on all sides. Concrete dust sifted out from the ceiling, and for one terrifying moment the basketball players wondered if it would fall in on top of them. One of the backboards on the court toppled over from the ferocity of the shaking. The basketball, now abandoned on the court, bounced about as though it had suddenly been given life.

The screams of the spectators continued even as they continued their panicked hurry to get out of the building for fear of being crushed by any of the walls or ceiling should they fall. Then a section of one of the side walls _did_ give way and crumbled, sections of it and the part of the ceiling it had supported falling in rapidly-breaking pieces; seeing this only served to up the alarm among the witnesses.

Then the shaking gradually subsided, become gentler little by little until one's footing was sturdy again. Noting this, Coach Rudolph carefully stood up. "All right, guys, head outside carefully," he warned. "There might be aftershocks. We don't want to be caught in here in case that happens."

The players of both teams all obeyed, heading for the now-gaping hole in the wall where even now plenty of the panicked fans were pouring through. But as Jay followed, he noticed something—off toward the main road, several dozen meters away, there was a faint blue energy wave stretching toward the school in a straight line, though now it was fading away fast.

His eyes narrowed. _I see…all right, Shockwave, you want to play that way? I can play that way, too!_

Hanging back a little, watching as the other players and both coaches mixed in with the spectators, he turned and rushed back toward the changing room. _Good thing I thought to bring my costume with me just in case,_ he thought grimly. _I just hope the room's still intact in there…_

OOOOO

Hearing the screams of the civilians as they rushed out of the damaged stadium, Shockwave quickly ducked down into the RV and shut the sunroof. He'd already seen that a section of the building's wall had fallen down, and that was all he needed. _Let them worry about the cost of repairs now. I'm done here,_ he thought smugly as he prepared to remove his costume.

A loud _SWOOSH_ just outside caught his attention—then a voice spoke up. "Excuse me, could you open up, please? I'm just checking to make sure nobody's hurt in there."

_That voice…_ Shockwave's eyes widened in disbelief, but he managed to keep it out of his voice as he answered, "Just a second." Then he readied his fists, both pointed right at the RV's door. "The door's open. Come on in."

The door swung open—and as it did, Shockwave fired a dual vibro-blast from his gauntlets. Then—FOOM!—there was a violent explosion as the blast connected with outside, followed by a shaking as tremors rocked the ground immediately outside again, but Shockwave wasn't fazed by any of it. "Think I didn't recognize your voice, Flash?" he barked. "You should've stayed buried under those rocks like the cockroach you are!"

The energy subsided—and only then did Shockwave realize that, while he had succeeded in causing another tremor, he hadn't actually hit Flash as he'd hoped. That realization came at the same time as a burst of blurry scarlet rushed in, grabbed him by his neck, and flung him out of the RV, with him landing heavily on the ground. "Guess you should've used bigger rocks, then," Flash announced, hands on his hips as he looked down at the fallen Shockwave.

"…all right, so I'll buy that you managed to survive the first fight—maybe because of your suit, I don't know. What I want to know is, how did you know I'd be _here?"_ Shockwave glowered.

"I did my homework." Flash smirked. "I know everything about you, Shockwave—or should I say, Arnold Pruett? After that one building you designed failed to meet the buyers' expectations and they took you to court, you lost most of your best-paying clients to Trinity Builders. And according to my reading, Trinity Builders doesn't have anyone else who'd have such a clear-cut reason to destroy anything they've built." His smirk grew wider. "I can only wonder what the police will think when they search this van of yours and find all sorts of evidence to connect you to these earthquakes—including your suit."

Shockwave pulled himself to his feet, rage bubbling on his face. "So you know the story. So what?" he grated. "I was the best of the best in my field, and then one building—_one building!_—put my reputation in the toilet. Trinity Builders and the whole rest of them, they dived down on my clients like vultures while my money was drained by that lawsuit! They ruined my life, so I'm going to ruin their reputation in turn—turnabout is fair play, as they say! And nobody's going to stand in my way—especially not a punk like you!"

"And putting innocent people's lives at risk is really worth it?" The smirk slowly disappeared from Flash's face.

"I don't care! Anybody who uses what those people have built, they're supporting the same ones who helped drive me out of business!" Shockwave raged. "I'll even bring down this whole city if I have to!"

So saying, he held up both fists, his gauntlets glowing with energy again, and fired a dual blast of concussive energy at the Scarlet Speedster. Flash swooshed out of the way just in time to allow the blast to sail past him; then he shot forward and fired multiple punches at Shockwave's midsection at blinding speed, knocking the taller man back a few steps. The other man flung a right punch forward, but the red-clad hero easily dodged to the side and kicked at the back of Shockwave's leg, causing him to fall forward with a grimace. Flash then send a right punch of his own straight at Shockwave's helmeted head, catching him in the mouth and knocking him down.

Shockwave got up on one knee, one of his gauntlets glowing with fresh energy. "I'll vibrate your bones into jelly, Flash," he snarled as he pointed his fist at Flash, it shining brighter with vibratory energy—

—but as he began to fire his concussive blast, Shockwave saw Flash blitz toward him, grab his wrist, and force that arm to bend backward so that his fist pointed in the direction of his own face. The image registered in his mind and his eyes suddenly widened, split-seconds before the blast was released…

WHAM!

Then the next thing Shockwave knew, his head and shoulders were violently flung backwards as the impact sent him crashing to the ground.

"Hope you liked that little taste of your own medicine," Flash grumbled as he looked at Shockwave's prone form. "Well, you're not going anywhere for now. And I'd better go get the campus security and have them call the cops."

OOOOO

Two days later…

"Gee, who'd have thought?" Jay sighed, reclining on the gazebo bench as he, Barry, Daphne and John all ate lunch together.

"I know, right? I mean, nobody would've expected that those quakes weren't natural," said Daphne.

Barry pulled out a newspaper and held up the lead page. _"Quake-maker Busted!_ It seems the guy was some big-shot contractor or something, and another company stole his clients, so he rigged up a suit that could generate vibratory shocks to get revenge…and he was the one who caused the quakes at the Golden Rainbow Hotel and here at the school's multi-purpose stadium! And when he was caught and the police searched his van, they found not only his suit, but design drafts for it, as well as target buildings in other cities that were designed by Trinity Builders, which drew the schematics for the hotel and the stadium…and unconfirmed reports are that it was the Flash who captured him…"

"Who's talking about any of that?" Jay promptly showed a copy of the school's newsletter. _"This_ is what I meant! _John Fox Secures Future Deal with NBA!"_

"Oh…that." John smiled sheepishly. "Well, I had idea they were going to pick me, Jay…"

"Well, listen to this," said Jay, before reading from the newsletter. _"NBA recruiters who visited the Central City University Thunderbolts' game against the Midway University Lions spoke highly of Fox, not only for his prowess on the court as the Thunderbolts' center, but also for his ability to keep a cool head under pressure, most notably when he prevented fellow team-mate Jay West from sparking a fight with one of the Midway Lions players. Fox has since agreed to accept a contract to play for the state team for one year, following his graduation from CCU."_

"Hey, if you hadn't provoked the other guy into a fight, maybe you'd have been offered a contract, too," Daphne needled him.

"Don't let it get you down, Jay," John said good-naturedly. "There'll be other games before graduation, and recruiters will still come sometimes."

"Yeah, and hopefully this one time won't spoil my reputation," said Jay, even as his face darkened while he said it. _Just like that one time wrecked Arnold Pruett's job…_

"Oh, I think you've already done that all by yourself before now," Daphne smirked.

"Whatever!" Jay snapped.

"All the same, John, I'll be honest…I may not be a sports buff like you guys, but you really earned this chance. Congrats. Just make the most of it, is all you do," Barry nodded respectfully.

"Hey, thanks, man," answered John, smiling. "And like I said, Jay, don't worry about it. Even if the whole basketball thing doesn't work out, at least you'll still have a career with the degree you're studying."

"Yeah…journalism…" Jay chuckled. "You know, it's kind of funny—to think I actually decided to do a journalism degree on a basketball scholarship…"

"It does sound quite unlike you, doesn't it?" said Daphne. "Seriously, though, why journalism?"

"Well, Grandma was an ace reporter back in her day, so I guess it runs in the family," Jay surmised. "Plus, I remember as a kid I used to always say that one day I'd be better than Lois Lane and Clark Kent. Now, _those_ two were top of their field in the print world."

"I can vouch for that—he always used to brag how he'd outdo those two someday," said Barry.

"So that's what you'd want to do—write?" asked John. "Where would you go to work? Old-time print media isn't in vogue anymore; it's all about what's on the Net now."

"Don't worry about that, I've been keeping up with the different advances in media," Jay assured him. "TV, radio and print are all working together more often nowadays. The _Chronicle, _the _Daily Planet_, and other entities like that, they're all pooling together more and more."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," said Daphne. "But anyway, congrats again, John. All the best when it comes time to sign that contract!"

OOOOO

On the other side of the fence separating the university compound from the roadside, and over on the other side of the road itself, Mr. Jones was watching the quartet intently. After a moment, he turned away, drawing his fedora down over his brow as he prepared to hail an approaching bus.

_So, Jay West…you are rude, arrogant, headstrong…yet at the same time, in hidden moments, you show yourself to be far more concerned for your fellow men than you would care to admit. Inexperienced, yes, and rough around the edges when it comes to knowing what it is to be a true hero…but that is something time can care for. Indeed…you have your predecessor's heart, if not his actual abilities._

The bus pulled up near him, and he boarded it. But his actions did nothing to stop his train of thought. _Dexter Myles certainly did well to allow you to keep the costume. Let us hope, now, that you will soon learn that there is more to the legacy of the Flash than merely the costume…_

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 4**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—for the first time, Commissioner West gives a public statement on his view of the Flash's presence in Central City! Meanwhile, Flash himself runs afoul of gangsters employed to the crime kingpin known as the Brick! Next chapter—_Inferno!_

(For those who want to visualize what the Flash's costume looks like, just think of the Flash's New-52 comic book look with very thin yellow Tron lines. Also, there won't be a lot of appearances by other superheroes in the story unless the plot calls for it, since this is primarily about the Flash's development as a solo hero. And once again, I credit JaredMilne1982 for the inspiration to write this story.)


	5. Inferno

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 5: Inferno**

"Okay, you're on, in five, four, three, two, and…!"

The program's theme music immediately began playing as the studio's video-cameras focused on the handsome moderator and his two guests. "Hello, and welcome to another edition of _Key-Central Perspective,_ where we discuss the topical issues and how they affect you, the people of the Central-Keystone area," the moderator spoke toward the main camera. "I'm your host, Jonathan Auerbach."

A graphic of a yellow lightning bolt inside a white circle appeared on a screen positioned just behind Auerbach's head. "Our topic today: Today makes it close to two weeks, twelve days to be exact, since the new Flash arrived on the scene to take over the original speedster's legacy. Within the first three days of his self-appointment as the city's costumed protector, he has already made a name for himself by fighting two super-criminals, and in the past week since then he's gone on daily patrols throughout Central City's boroughs, letting the populace get a view of his activities, taking on criminals on occasion and bringing them in for the police to process, and just generally playing his own public relations officer. Here are a few brief clips of video footage, both from various security tapes and recordings captured by civilians, showing the modern-day Scarlet Speedster in action thus far…"

A screen close by showed Auerbach and the rest of the studio crew what they knew was being broadcasted to the viewing public: a video-clip of the Flash interrupting a mugging; then another clip of him chasing a purse-snatcher; then another of him rounding up a group of convenience-store robbers. "All right, that's just a few examples of what the Flash has been doing last week alone," Auerbach resumed. "On the preceding Saturday night he captured the super-criminal known as Shockwave, who was responsible for the series of quakes the city had experienced _and_ who used said quakes to damage the Golden Rainbow Hotel and Central City University's multi-purpose stadium; and the Thursday before that incident, which is also when he first appeared, he battled and defeated the Trickster, a known troublemaker who had likewise decided to take on the mantle of an old super-criminal."

A brief clip of video-footage showed the Flash's fight with the Trickster at the Flash Museum during its 50th-anniversary reopening, while a shot of a newspaper headline featured Shockwave, unmasked as disgraced building designer Arnold Pruett, being led away in handcuffs by the police. "Now, the questions to be answered," added Auerbach. "The Flash—a ruby angel, or a crimson devil? Do we really need a costumed crime-fighter to defend our populace? Is what he's doing against the law? Can we accommodate him, or does he need to go?"

As the two side-cameras focused on his two guests sitting with him, Auerbach now introduced them. "With me today to discuss the Flash are two special figureheads in the Central-Keystone area, each representing one of the twin cities: Commissioner of the Central City police force, Rudolph West, and deputy-mayor of Keystone City, Ashton Kristos. Our discussion begins, right after these messages."

OOOOO

Seated at his office desk, Daniel Brickwell calmly watched as _Key-Central Perspective_ went into its first commercial break. He was very interested to know what the two guests' viewpoints on Central City's new costumed crime-fighter would be, although he felt sure he could at least predict what the Commissioner would say given the man's previous stance on costumed vigilantes. And for a man of Brickwell's societal position, that viewpoint worked well in his favor.

Nobody who knew Daniel Brickwell or had at least heard of him would honestly say that he was the kind of public figure to have as a good role model, and indeed he himself didn't pretend that he was a very nice guy. In fact, it was an open secret within the Central-Keystone community that he was one of the most ruthless crime bosses in the area, and he had a stranglehold over much of the local organized crime. He'd started out in distant Star City as a young enforcer for a number of gangs in that town, jumping from one to another whenever it seemed that the one he was currently with was about to collapse or be stamped out; yet not only was he a man of incredible strength and durability, he also had the gift of a cunning and enterprising mind. At twenty-five years of age he'd decided to migrate to the Central-Keystone area and establish himself as an unbreakable figure; now, at forty-five, he still maintained his official place as owner of half of Keystone City's business district and his unofficial role as the man who even the police kept a far distance from for fear of reprisal that he wasn't afraid to dish out whenever he felt he'd been crossed.

He'd come to be nicknamed "the Brick" for his tough stance on maintaining all criminal activity under _his_ thumb and nobody else's, and for his immovability from his current post as Keystone's kingpin of crime, and it was an epithet that he wielded effectively. The name did not only describe his demeanor or his penchant for illegal activities, however; it was also applied more literally, as his very appearance made him resemble a walking red brick. That part of it, he could ascribe to a black-market super-soldier serum he'd managed to acquire some fifteen years ago.

The serum, he'd been told at the time, was manufactured using some of the same ingredients that had made the infamous Captain Nazi serum which the United States government had confiscated from Germany during World War 2. The exact formula couldn't be replicated, of course, as most of the ingredients from the original serum had long since been hidden away, stolen or destroyed; but what had been substituted for the one he got not only gave him the enhanced strength that had been advertised, but also gave him the cosmetic side-effect of turning his skin brick-red and somewhat toughened. Sometimes he had a private laugh at the irony that he, a black man by birth, could have had such a physical change by a derivative of the serum fashioned by the so-called Aryan "master" race.

He picked up his mug of morning coffee and took a few sips as the program began on TV again.

OOOOO

"Welcome back to _Key-Central Perspective; _thanks so much for staying with us," Martinez spoke up. "Now, let's get right into the heart of today's matter, and we'll start with you, Commissioner West. Up to now the public hasn't heard your view on the presence of the Flash since he first appeared; in fact, today is probably the first time your voice will make a sound on the topic. So what say you, sir?"

"Well, Phillip, good morning and thanks for having me here," Commissioner West answered. "Well, I'll tell you right off the bat—I think the Flash means well, but according to the law he's acting as a vigilante, and vigilantism is itself a crime."

"How so, in this case?" pursued Martinez.

"For one thing, Phillip, he's a man in a mask. Nobody knows who he really is. How can we trust someone like that so easily?" said Commissioner West. "For another, he's acting the role of a police officer, but he's using a fancy costume instead of a badge. So he takes the law into his own hands—how long will it be before the rest of the city follows suit? Then we'll have a collapse of law and order, which my officers and I have been placed here to maintain."

"Not to cut you, sir, but according to the evidence, so far the Flash hasn't technically done anything that would strictly step into the bounds of police work," Martinez interrupted. "From all accounts, each time he's been in action, he's contacted the police and given them information on where to come and pick up the criminals he's faced. Adding to that, there are witnesses who report that they or their property were placed in danger each time, but that the Flash's swift action—if you'll excuse the expression—resulted in the perpetrators being taken care of. So he's performing citizens' arrests each time, he's just dressed up in red pajamas and yellow gloves and boots."

Off to the side, several members of the set's production crew snickered at the description.

"But has he been officially sanctioned by the city?" said Commissioner West. "Has he been deputized to serve in such a capacity? No, he hasn't—not yet, at least. And as our District Attorney said some time ago, criminals who are caught by vigilantes are harder to successfully prosecute than those who are caught by the book of the law. So what's going to happen when these criminals the Flash has nabbed get to walk out of our precincts as free men based on a technicality?"

"If I may, the mayor's office in Keystone is taking steps to address that very same point," Deputy-Mayor Kristos spoke up. "Mayor Gayle has been in talks with Central City's Mayor Russell, and our respective city councils are to meet soon to take a vote on whether to deputize Flash—give him legal sanction to fight crime within our two cities."

"Interesting," said Martinez. "Commissioner, if Flash should get this sanction, would you feel more at ease having him around to help in the fight against crime?"

"If it's a city directive, as an agent of the law I would have to abide by it," said Commissioner West. "Personally speaking, though, I'd feel a whole lot better if the Flash would publicly demonstrate why we should so willingly put our trust in him—by taking off that mask of his and coming clean about who he really is."

"Traditionally, superheroes have had secret identities for a number of reasons—the chief one being that it's to protect their friends and loved ones from retaliation by their enemies. Wouldn't this be the case here?" questioned Martinez.

"Police officers put their lives on the line on a daily basis to capture criminals. At least three-quarters of the men and women under my command have families, relatives and boyfriends or girlfriends that I know of," returned the commissioner. "There is _always_ the risk that any criminal they catch and put away might come back and do harm to their loved ones as a way of paying them back. Anybody who's afraid of having that happen has no business going out to fight crime in the first place, with or without a mask."

"Very well, then," said Martinez. "Mr. Kristos, you seem receptive to the idea of the Flash operating in the area. Can you explain why that is?"

"I'm looking at the Central-Keystone area's history with the Flash—the first one, I mean," said the Keystone deputy-mayor. "The previous Flash was known for his work with the underprivileged of both cities, he established himself as a dependable role model, and of all the major cities with costumed crime-fighters in the entire United States, Central City in particular boasted the highest decline in criminal activity in a five-year period because of him. With this new Flash, now, it's still early days yet—let's give him a little time to establish himself here, and by the end of one year we can compare the city's crime rate with his presence to what it was before he came."

"But there are some persons who might argue, as I'm sure Commissioner West might, that with the Flash now present in Central City, criminals might be inspired to put on fancy costumes and come to fight him," Martinez noted. "It's been historically documented that any time a costumed crime-fighter made a presence in his city of operations, costumed criminals would soon afterwards come out to face him. Everybody knows the story of Batman—when the first man to wear the mask appeared in Gotham City decades ago, characters like the Joker, the Riddler, Catwoman, the Penguin and others appeared shortly afterward. With the Batman who's currently in operation, when he first appeared it was figures like Shriek, Spellbinder, Inque and Mad Stan. For Superman, it was the Parasite, Metallo, Livewire, Bizarro and Luminus. Even with the first Flash, we have a museum right here in Central City with exhibits of some of the enemies he had to face—Captain Cold, Gorilla Grodd, Captain Boomerang, the Weather Wizard, the Shade, and others. Who's to say that our new Flash won't attract similar enemies?"

"We don't have any guarantee that he won't—but we must remember, too, that many of these super-criminals have had, in many cases, predispositions to crime even before they put on their costumes," answered Deputy-Mayor Kristos. "The two men that this Flash has had to face so far, both of them had motivations for crime long before he came on the scene. The Trickster, for example—the news reports said that he was a known troublemaker previously, and his becoming the Trickster happened just before the Flash appeared. If any super-powered enemies come to fight him any time soon, we can be certain they existed with their problems long before."

OOOOO

Brick sipped at his coffee again as he continued watching the discussion. He'd done his homework on the history of the first Flash sometime after his arrival in Central City long ago, so he knew that, even with a few detractors like Commissioner West, Kristos's announcement would find traction with the general populace. With the right number of votes from both cities' councils, the Flash would be free to run around and bust criminals as often as he liked…even those in Brick's outfit.

But the crime boss wasn't bothered by this prospect. If anything, he found it intriguing. After all the opposition he'd overcome in his rise to the top of the Keystone underworld, it would be nice to face a fresh challenge. Naturally, as with all other opponents prior, he would take the Flash apart piece by piece, just to show that not even a costumed crime-fighter wannabe would take away his power.

And what better time to give the new speedster a tiny sample of what the Brick could do, than now?

He pressed a button on his desk and waited. A minute later the door to his office opened, and in stepped a man in a red suit and matching tie. "Yes, Mr. Brickwell," the new arrival spoke.

"Hyatt, status on today's anticipated shipment?" Brick asked.

"The shipment is to be picked up at the docks over in the Mounds View area of Central City, at 11:30 tonight," Hyatt reported. "Harbor Patrol, the shipyard master and our men in the customs office have been…given the proper incentive to ensure no disturbance of the transfer of the goods from the docks to your warehouse."

"Mmm-hmm." Brick's brow furrowed. "And the Flash?"

"We await your instructions with regard to him, sir," said Hyatt.

"I see." Brick's eyes narrowed slightly. "Absolutely _nothing_ must be allowed to interrupt this transfer, including a child in red tights. I have waited too long for this shipment, for it to be foiled by any unforeseen circumstances now. The Flash may not have crossed paths with this empire that I control, as yet, but if I am to be a realist, I must acknowledge that inevitably we will meet. But for the time being, I would like to put that meeting off at least until the goods are safely stored away."

Hyatt said nothing, but waited for his employer to continue. Noting his henchman's expectant silence, Brick waved a hand at him. "You _are_ free to speak, Hyatt. Tell me, what would you do to deal with a possible interference from this man?"

"I would create a diversion for him, to keep him busy so that the real objective could be pulled off unmolested," Hyatt answered after some thought. "It would also have to be something so big that the local authorities not already accounted for would likewise be occupied, yet far enough away that the police would be unable to be in two places at once."

Now Brick allowed himself a little smirk. "In that case…we can utilize the services of our associate, Mr. Hawkleigh."

"Yes, sir. He hasn't let you down yet, and he's always gotten the job down right to the letter of the instructions given him," said Hyatt. "I'll make the call now, then."

OOOOO

Liam Hawkleigh was a man of simple tastes. Always had been, always would be. Long before he'd joined the Marine Corps, long after he'd left them, and all throughout his years since taking on his current profession, he'd never once changed this aspect of himself. And as he was now, those simple tastes were confined to two things, things which weren't complicated and to which he could relate with ease: money and guns. Those two things were all he cared about in life, and conveniently enough, those two things were tied to his mercenary skills, which were always in high demand.

Money was a simple concept. Anybody could understand money, understand its value. A man could get anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted, so long as he had the requisite amount of credits, and the more he had, the greater his chances to get ahead in life and the more of anything he'd be able to get. The same with guns—hold the weapon in your hands, aim, pull the trigger, _bang-bang-bang, _and the target would be injured or dead depending on which one you intended.

At least when he'd been in the Marines, he'd been able to satisfy his love for guns with his appointment as a sniper. Ranking as a gunnery sergeant during his tenure with the Marines, there was soon nothing that he didn't know about every firearm known to the military. It got to the point that he earned the nickname Gunhawk, for his particular proficiency with rifles and for his exceptional vision and resulting marksmanship; there was no target that he couldn't hit, and in fact he could hit anything and anyone from a mile away, no matter how fast it was going. Of course, he wasn't one to limit himself, as his interest in guns also allowed him to pick up the basics of small arms quickly, and he was also skilled in amphibious operations, which when combined with his sniping skills made him both a worthwhile soldier and a fearsome enemy.

But even Liam had to admit that there wasn't much demand for his skills outside of the military, and that point was forced home after his discharge. What business enterprise would accept a man whose only talent was picking off a man's head with a rifle shot from a mile away?

As it turned out, only one kind of business enterprise would do that unflinchingly—the criminal kind. Realizing that no scruples need get in the way of such employment, and that the payoffs would be very good, he advertised himself with his Marine nickname as an assassin specializing in quick kills from a distance, and gave abridged versions of his Marine history as a reference to his talent. Soon afterwards, he was accepting all sorts of assassination jobs at a million credits per hit, and there was many a businessman, crime don, politician, and the occasional cheating blue-blood spouse whose murders could be tallied up and traced right back to him. Of course, to date he'd never been caught because he had a strict code of professionalism about his contract killings; one rule he always enforced was that he never asked questions, he never backed out of a deal, and his clients were usually smart enough not to try double-crossing him. The last syndicate boss who'd gotten greedy and tried to do that wound up with a whole gun-clip emptied into his obese torso, and the man's admittedly small crime enterprise ended up being devoured by scheming rivals as a result.

Three years' worth of murder-by-sniper work had proven to be pretty lucrative. To date, as Gunhawk he had amassed several million credits in his account, yet he knew better than to show it off by spending lavishly. To that end, he maintained a few low-key apartments and safe-houses in different cities, moving around as needed so as to avoid having to linger in one place too long after a hit. All the same, he had recurring clients in certain high-profile cities such as Metropolis, Gotham, Bludhaven and Central City, and it was to these places that he rotated his stays, keeping contact with the ones who paid him the highest salaries to do his job.

Currently he was holed up in one of his many safe-houses in Gotham City, watching television and drinking from a soda can. "They don't make action flicks like they used to," he muttered, while on the TV the main star pulled on a bandana and grabbed hold of a machine-gun.

Just then his cell-phone rang, and he reached over and answered it. "Yeah?"

"_Good day, Mr. Hawkleigh,"_ the voice on the other end addressed him. _"This is Mr. Hyatt, from Keystone City. Mr. Brickwell has a job for you."_

Liam smiled a little—Danny Brickwell, "the Brick" of the Central-Keystone area's criminal underworld, was one of his highest-paying clients, and always provided him with the more interesting jobs. "I'm listening," he said, sitting up straighter.

"_Go to STAR Labs' Central City office in the Westminster area tonight, at 11:00. Your target is the costumed vigilante known as the Flash."_

Now Liam's eyebrow rose on hearing that last bit of info. He'd read about the speedster's debut and subsequent exploits in Central City, but—for a hit to be placed on a superhero, even one as new as this? In the three years he'd been doing his mercenary work, he'd never actually been contracted to snipe a superhero. As far as he was aware, too, the general superhero community stuck together like glue, and if one of them was injured, the whole rest of them would hunt down the perpetrator and make sure he gave account for his actions.

"Payout?"

"_Five million credits up front, and another fifteen million on completion."_

Liam had never been one to throw away an opportunity, either. A twenty million credit payout was nothing to sneeze at, and it was definitely higher than any fee he'd been offered before now. Then again, this _was_ a superhero he was being contracted to kill, even if it was an up-and-coming one.

"I'll be there."

Even this new hero's much-publicized speed wouldn't be fast enough to evade the Gunhawk's marksmanship.

OOOOO

Jay West ascended the stairs leading to the Flash Museum's main entrance. He'd finished his classes for the morning, and didn't have another class till 6:30 p.m., so he'd figured on killing some time by visiting Dexter Myles, curator of this museum, to shoot the breeze with him.

_I could be patrolling the city as the Flash,_ _but hey, I ought to at least get a break from that once in a while and just kick back. Still, I've got my costume here with me just in case…_ He noted his rather large backpack, in which the red uniform and yellow boots of the Flash were safely folded together and tucked away in a separate compartment from his school books. _I have to admit, I'm impressed—this suit's strong enough to take a walloping from super-villains, yet flexible and lightweight enough to fit in a backpack—even the boots and gloves can fit comfortably in here! I wonder who designed it like that?_

But his were not all rosy thoughts. Having been in class earlier that morning, he had missed the day's broadcast of _Key-Central Perspective,_ but he'd managed to piece together the various bits of discussion from other students about the panelists' viewpoints to gauge what had been said. _Dad's claims don't really surprise me,_ he thought wryly, recalling what he'd heard that Commissioner West had said about the Flash. _Even so…_

"Ah, young fellow! Come to visit, have you?" he heard Curator Myles's familiar voice hailing him, and on turning, he saw the older man walking from an office door and coming his way.

"Hey, old man," Jay responded to him. "How goes it? Looks like you've got quite a few visitors today," he added, looking around at the number of patrons perusing the museum's exhibits.

"Naturally—our patronage has been boosted since the police finally took down the barricade tape last week, and ever since the Flash's return to these city streets, everybody wants to know the Scarlet Speedster's history," said Curator Myles. "Several people were even paying close attention to that panel-discussion show this morning, _Key-Central Perspective—_the Flash was the main topic! Did you see it?"

"No, I had classes this morning…but I heard about it afterward," said Jay. "I wasn't expecting Dad to be gushing with support for a costumed crime-fighter…but still…" He glanced from side to side and lowered his voice. "I still feel a little irked about it—I mean, I've saved this city from troublemakers twice already! You'd think Dad could be a little more grateful."

"Hmm," Curator Myles nodded. "Come, how about we sit and talk in my office?"

The two headed over to the curator's office, and Dexter securely shut the door while gesturing to Jay to sit down. "Make yourself comfortable, son," he said. "Now, then. Let me give you a little bit of old man's wisdom—in all the years I've lived, I've never once heard of a superhero who had total 100 percent approval from society at large. Even your predecessor had it pretty badly, at least in his early career; he had to be active for quite a few years before he became the favorite son of Central City."

"Well, Mayor Russell had said before that she's thinking to award me after I beat up that Trickster guy, and now they're thinking to deputize me," Jay pointed out.

"That's not a light honor you'd be getting, Jay," Dexter cautioned him. "The Flash has always been a superhero of such character that everybody looks up to him, or otherwise speaks of him with varying degrees of respect. That they're thinking of deputizing you means they trust you, or rather they trust the symbol you wear. Because of that, you need to ensure that the Flash doesn't violate the public's trust, or do anything that will cause this city to think badly of the hero's legacy."

Jay grimaced a little. "In other words, with power comes responsibility, right? Sounds like a comic book cliché, gramps."

"Clichéd, perhaps, but it's something you would do well to cultivate if you want Central City's populace to respect you instead of fearing or hating you," Dexter said sternly. "And a lot of times, all it takes is one slip-up, one wrong judgment call, and whatever respect they had for you can go up in smoke, just like…" He snapped his fingers. "…that."

Recalling Shockwave's back-story, Jay was immediately pensive. "Yeah…okay, Dex, I hear you. So I'll be a nice guy to Central City, kiss babies, shake civilians' hands, and do my best not to step out of line."

"Given that you're just starting out in this, that will probably take time to develop…but the sooner you do, the better you will be able to establish yourself in the social consciousness," Dexter told him. "And who knows, maybe you'll be able to sway Commissioner West's viewpoint of the Flash, if you can convince him by your actions that the Scarlet Speedster isn't going to be a threat to the community."

Just then there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" Dexter called.

One of the museum attendants entered. "Sorry to disturb you, Curator Myles, but someone just dropped this off," and he held up an envelope.

"Who is that from?" Dexter asked, immediately in curator mode.

"I don't know, sir; they just came up to me, told me to make sure the Flash got it, and then left," the attendant replied, somewhat sheepishly. "I thought I should give it to you, to decide what to do with it."

"All right, then, give it here," the curator instructed.

Nodding, the attendant handed Dexter the envelope and left, shutting the door behind him. "Hmm…" Dexter studied the envelope, which was sealed but bore no signatures or other markings on it. "Probably nothing special, I suppose."

"Nobody sends anybody a sealed envelope with nothing written on it, Dexter. Give me that," and Jay snatched the envelope from Dexter and tore it open. "And what do you know, a letter!"

"And it says…?" Dexter asked, cocking his eyebrow as Jay read the note.

"…it's a tip-off." Jay lowered the paper, a frown on his face. "Apparently, somebody's planning to do a major break-in at STAR Labs tonight. The expected time for the hit is 11:15."

"Humph. And here I thought it was going to be a 'secret crush' note from one of the Flash's many new admirers," said Dexter, sounding disappointed. "Honestly, who leaves 'tip-off' notes like that for superheroes in this day and age? Either it's a hoax, or someone's trying to set you up."

"I wouldn't be so sure…there was an attempted burglary at STAR Labs earlier this month," Jay rebutted. "It was even on the news. Apparently somebody broke into a section of the lab and tried to steal some research notes on this fire-related project one of the STAR Labs scientists was working on…I can't remember the scientist's name right now, though."

"Yes, I heard about that, too," Dexter conceded. "Still, it strikes me as being just a little bit suspicious that somebody—and we don't even know _who_—would leave an unsigned message with this kind of information specifically for the Flash. Why not go to the police, if the information is for real?"

Jay considered this point. "I see what you mean," he said after a moment. "All right, let's say it _is_ a trap for the Flash. What do I do? I can't just take this note to the cops—they'll want to know how I got it, and I can't answer that because I don't know where it's coming from. But suppose it turns out to be genuine, and I'm in a position to do something about it but don't?"

"Do you have something in mind?" asked Dexter.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Jay answered, smirking. "I think maybe it's time to take a personal field trip to STAR Labs…"

OOOOO

Twenty minutes later, Jay stepped out of the taxicab outside the STAR Labs building. "Okay, here I am…now what do I do?" he wondered aloud. "This place is more Barry's scene than mine…ah, well, just gotta roll with it, I guess…wonder where the security guards are?"

He headed toward the main entrance, but stopped short as he saw a familiar figure coming through the glass doors. "Jay? What are you doing here?" Daphne Dean inquired, looking curiously at him even as she dangled a notebook at her side.

"I could ask you the same question—I didn't know you work here," returned Jay.

"Of course you wouldn't know—you're not science-minded like me and Barry," said Daphne. "I'm doing some part-time work here to cover some of my tuition expenses. Plus, I've already done a previous internship with STAR Labs—they really like the work I've been doing, and they're actually thinking of offering me a job once I'm out of university!"

"Well, good for you," said Jay. "Now you get to be a real science geek."

Daphne ignored the verbal jab. "So, again, why are _you_ here? Have you decided to become a 'science geek' yourself?" she said mockingly.

"That'll be the day," answered Jay. "But actually…" He considered how to phrase his next statement. "Have you heard anything about anybody planning to break in here?"

"Huh? No…where'd you hear that?" Daphne seemed surprised.

"I overheard a little rumor about it," said Jay. "And then I remembered that somebody tried to break in here earlier this month. It was all over the news back then. Of course, this could probably be nothing, 'cause you know how rumors can get."

Daphne furrowed her brow. "Well, yeah, someone did try to break in that one time," she affirmed. "The perp was trying to steal something that Professor Byrnes was working on, but the night watchman was on duty and caught him."

"Professor Byrnes?" Jay wondered aloud.

"Yeah, Dr. Lyle Byrnes—he's a pyrotechnics researcher here," explained Daphne. Seeing Jay's puzzled look, she went on, "Meaning, he specializes in creating self-sustained heat-based chemical reactions for new types of energy." But still she saw the puzzled look. "Oh, come on! He makes fire that doesn't go out easily and uses it as an energy source!"

Jay shook his head. "Now wasn't _that_ so much easier to say?"

"Oh, what am I thinking? I can't expect a guy with sports on the brain to get it!" Daphne threw a hand into the air in exasperation. "Anyway…since that break-in, the lab security's been beefed up, so you can't get into the work areas without an ID or an approved escort."

"Oh, okay. Well, just thought I'd check it out. So much for rumors," Jay shrugged.

"I'm just amazed a guy like you would be interested in that sort of thing at all. Want to clue me in as to why?" said Daphne.

"Maybe it's the journalist in me getting antsy," Jay chuckled. "Besides, it _is _something that Dad's police officers were involved in when they arrested the perp that time, right?"

"Well, if you've heard any rumor that anything else is going to happen, don't you think you should report it?" asked Daphne, giving him a side-eyed look.

"With what evidence—hearsay? That ain't gonna fly too high, Daph," Jay snorted.

But now he glanced back toward the STAR Labs entrance, his eyes narrowed in thought. _A fire-based energy source, huh…and one that won't go out? Sounds like just the kind of thing a corporate thief would go for, to sell to the highest bidder…I think the Flash WILL pass by here tonight, just to make sure!_

OOOOO

Later that night…

Gunhawk's instructions had said he should be at the designated spot for his assignment by 11:00, but he had a policy to be in position at least half an hour before the appointed time so that he could get his gear into place, get a good feel of the surrounding area, and map out his escape route. Now, sitting on the building's rooftop, he calmly prepared his weaponry.

_Ammo cartridge…check. Silencer…check. Target scope…check._

Fitting it all together, he checked his watch, set to 24-hour military time. _22:55…five minutes before he's expected to show up. More than enough to have everything ready before he's here._

The assassin was clad in the gear he always wore for jobs of this nature: a green and black body-suit with a black-and-white bull's-eye target on the chest, a brown shoulder-holster in which rested a pistol, and a grey belt with several metal pouches containing additional ammunition; on his face he sported a yellow visor, and on his head was a bandana colored in the style of the American flag—he always wore it when out on a mission, somewhat out of sentiment for his past Marine life. He'd designed the suit himself, largely for comfort and practical wear, as the colors allowed him to blend in with the darkness and the natural and urban environment and the fabric didn't snag or chafe, but allowed his skin room to breathe and at the same time allowed him to move fluidly. Even his old uniform from his time in the Marines, while comfortable and practical, was a bit baggy in comparison to what he now wore, and bagginess didn't always translate well to freedom from snagging.

From where he was positioned, he had a clear view of the front entrance to the STAR Labs building, two blocks away. Anybody who came within fifty feet of the front door would be in his direct line of sight, and therefore vulnerable to his sniping skill. All he had to do was get himself into position and wait. And patience, the friend of the sniper, was something Gunhawk had plenty of.

_22:57._

His rifle's calibrations were complete. The ammo cartridge was in place, the silencer fitted to the barrel of the gun to lessen the noise, and the scope was in position on the top to better guide his aim. Now, setting himself into a crouching position on one knee, he readied the gun and pointed it in the direction of STAR Labs. Now, it was a matter of how long it would take before his quarry would be in the perfect spot for him to take his mark.

_22:58._

OOOOO

Inside the STAR Labs building, Professor Lyle Byrnes, the resident pyrotechnics expert, sat at his desk in his lab, carefully examining the notes for the formula he'd been developing for some time. He had the ingredients all put together in the right amount, of that he was certain; now, if he could transfer those additional calculations from paper to practical hands-on experimenting, he would have a clean, self-sustaining source of energy that would put the entire Central-Keystone region on the scientific community's map forever. Never mind that a thief had recently attempted to break into the lab to steal his notes; it only proved that he was getting closer and closer to achieving the results he wanted.

Mixing the solutions together into a large beaker, he swished the container around for a moment and then set it on top of a hot plate. Turning the heating device's setting to medium, he took up a smaller beaker with a reddish fluid and poured it into the existing solution, carefully stirring it in as he did. If the formula was violently disturbed, there might be risk of an explosion, he theorized, so therefore the mixture must be mixed in very slowly and very gradually. Slow, methodical movement was the scientist's best friend, especially with volatile items like this.

Ever since he'd come to Central City to work at its STAR Labs branch, Dr. Byrnes had spent much of his time working on this project, to the point that his colleagues good-naturedly ribbed him about not having a social life. He took the teasing in stride, knowing that the end result would be well worth it—something to benefit this city and the wider region, and quite possibly the world. That he could be _this _close to replicating the legendary "Greek Fire," only this time for the benefit of mankind as opposed to warfare like the historical unquenchable liquid flame…if one might pardon the pun, he'd say he was rather hot-blooded about seeing his work go through to the very end.

For this reason, in order to save time with his daily schedule in the lab, he'd taken it upon himself to work long after his colleagues had gone home for the evening, himself departing only after he was sure he'd made one step forward to perfecting the formula into the energy source he hoped it would be. Tonight was just one more of the same kind of schedule, but with the added bonus that now, after all the extra time he'd put in, he only had a little more ways to go…

OOOOO

_23:13…and there he is._

Gunhawk smiled to himself as, in the distance and in front of the STAR Labs building, a bright red streak dashed up and then stopped. Placing the rifle's scope to his eye to see better, he was treated to a magnified shot of the Flash standing several feet away from the front door. He watched as, unaware of being watched, Flash glanced around for a moment, then started to stroll up toward the door.

The rifle was ready. His grip on the barrel of the gun remained firm and steady, his finger gently beginning to squeeze the trigger. The scope had Flash's head in dead-center.

Tighter…tighter…tighter…the pressure behind the trigger grew heavier and heavier…

OOOOO

"Hmm, nothing's happening?" Flash looked up at the building, then looked around. "No crooks? No hidden bad guys? No ninjas? Somehow these kinds of high-security break-ins always have ninjas involved…or maybe I watch too many movies…"

He surveyed the building some more, walking up to the glass door and peering in. Only one light was on somewhere down on the ground floor, but otherwise nothing seemed out of sorts. "Ah, well, I guess since nothing's going on after all, I can just head back home and get back to bed!" he declared with a shrug and a grin.

He casually spun around to leave—just in time to see a round piece of metal staring him in the eye, less than two inches away from his face.

His eyes widened. At once the object seemed to stop in midair. He stepped to one side…and noticed a very tiny smoke trail immediately behind the object…

He instantly tore off in the direction the object had come from, only barely noting that the object was set to crash into the glass door.

OOOOO

Gunhawk's eyes widened behind his visor as, from his viewpoint, the Flash turned right at the point when the bullet was to hit him squarely in the face—and dodged out of the way—and then turned into a red blur—speeding—_toward his position._

"Oh—" was all the assassin could manage as the blur rushed up the side of the building where he was camped out on the roof, before a crimson-gloved fist crashed into his chin and sent him flying backwards, the rifle jarred out of his hands by the impact and skittering along the rooftop.

OOOOO

_CRASH!_

So intensely was Dr. Byrnes concentrating on mixing his formula, and so silent had the lab been up to this point, that the noise of glass smashing just outside his work-station caused him to jerk upright in surprise and spin in the noise's direction on reflex. As he did so, his hand accidentally bumped against the beaker, and only seconds later did he realize that it was knocked off the hot plate and the whole container, with its precious commodity, was falling toward the floor.

And so full had the beaker been, as well, that his inadvertent knocking-over of the glass container caused a small measure of it to spill toward the hot plate, as well…and the heat was still on medium-level and had been for a while…

…_no…_

OOOOO

Shaking his head to clear his vision of the bright, dazing colors flashing before his eyes from the impact of the punch, the sniper reached for his shoulder-holster to pull out his pistol—but the Flash was far faster, grabbing the gun and tossing it to one side before hoisting the assassin to his feet by the front of his uniform. Not to be outdone, Gunhawk reached into his belt and pulled out a combat knife, but a swift head-butt knocked him down before he could use the blade. Flash then reached down, grabbed his would-be shooter by the throat, and pinned him to a nearby wall.

"Got any more weapons to show me so I can knock you down again for each one?" Flash spat at him.

_**CHA-KOOM!**_

A loud explosion, coming from the direction of STAR Labs, caused Flash to glance behind him. Seizing advantage of his quarry's distraction, Gunhawk sent an open palm straight under Flash's chin and knocked him off-balance, before following up with a thrusting kick to the stomach that pushed the speedster further back. Diving and rolling toward his downed knife, Gunhawk grabbed it and held it in a backhanded pose, grinning nastily as he slashed forward at Flash's face…but seeing the sharpened steel-edge coming at him, Flash ducked down and swung his leg forward in an arc, tripping the mercenary and causing him to land hard on his back.

Before Gunhawk could regain his bearings, Flash was on top of him, sending three swift punches to his face. Gunhawk felt his lip split, his gum burst, and his nose smart from pain with each successive blow, and there was little more he could do as, with one fluid motion, Flash jumped up, grabbed him by his vest, lifted him up and spun him around once, and flung him bodily into the wall. The sniper grunted as he hit with strong force, landing on the ground with a thud.

Flash zipped over to him, lifted him up and pinned him to the wall again. "Looks like what I was told was true—it _was_ a set-up," he hissed. "Did you rig that explosion back there for me, too, just in case you missed with your gun?"

Bleeding from his facial injuries, nonetheless Gunhawk glared back at the speedster. "Explosion? I don't know about that," he rasped. "The sniper bullet would've been enough to get you."

"Really." In a blurry movement, Flash sent his elbow crashing into Gunhawk's face, knocking him down. "You go right into nappy-land and don't wake up. I'll be right back." And with that, he zoomed away.

For his part, as blackness covered his vision, the last thing Gunhawk saw was the Flash's blurry red form vanishing from the roof. _Can't believe…I actually missed…_

OOOOO

Dashing down the wall of the building and rushing back to STAR Labs, Flash soon arrived there in seconds and was treated to a fiery sight: bright orange flames were shooting out of a window around the back on the ground floor, and a menacing glow could be seen from the doorway. The glass doors had been blown outward, most likely by the force of the explosion, and were considerably damaged, but it seemed that the fire hadn't yet spread to the front office other than the rapidly-thickening smoke. Still, just the heat from the smoke was enough to make Flash recoil a little.

_Is anybody in there?_

Dashing inside, Flash immediately started coughing as the smoke swirled around him. He glanced around wildly, even as above him the sprinkler system activated and showered numerous sprays of water all over the place. "Hello? Anybody here?" he yelled.

OOOOO

His eyes slowly opening and his sense of consciousness coming back to him, Dr. Byrnes groaned in pain as the heat of the flames and the pain in his head surrounded him. The whole room was like an oven that had had gasoline thrown in for added fuel with a blowtorch taken to it in a moment. Or maybe it only felt that way because of how hot his immediate person felt, having taken the brunt of the explosion from the formula splashing on the hot plate. He'd expected it to be volatile, but to cause such a reaction…and the amount that had spilled on the floor only added to the rapidly-spreading flames…and it didn't help matters that several of the other chemicals that were in here had various levels of flammability.

His coat was burning, his shirt was burning, his hair was burning, and he felt a thick dampness where he'd hit his head on the edge of one of the tables after being flung back by the shock of the initial blast. To make the situation worse, many of the other chemicals had burst out of their containers from the force of the initial explosion and were on the floor underneath him, soaking into his clothes and adding to the fire. The heat was interfering with his ability to stay conscious, too, and his mind threatening to black out due to the agonizing pounding in his head from where he'd hit it wasn't helping either.

He heard a shout of "Hey!" and then, one second later, a red-clad figure appeared in the room, shielding his face from the heat and the flames with his arms. Through the searing heat that made his vision crimson and his body tingle with pain, he could only barely register as the figure stepped here and there, gingerly moving amidst the broken glass left behind by the shattered containers, flinching away from the ever-rising flames that roared in the ears.

"Help…" he managed to muster the strength to mumble, even while another threatened blackout enveloped his consciousness.

The flames in the lab roared, climbing hungrily to different sections of the room. The sprinklers were active now, but somehow the fire seemed to be defiant against the water's intended cooling effect. In a moment of clarity, Dr. Byrnes remembered that history said water couldn't extinguish Greek fire. Evidently history had been right.

And evidently the mystery figure was…leaving the room.

"No…come back…" Dr. Byrnes wanted to scream it out, to scream above the howling fire, but the painful heat over his body and the darkness that threatened to settle over his consciousness from the pain in his head wouldn't let him get it out any louder than a murmur.

And then the darkness finally consumed his vision and he blacked out totally, while the flames and heat continued to rage.

OOOOO

The phone buzzed on the night-stand next to Thaddeus Hunter's bed, and in response he stirred slightly, but didn't quite wake up. He'd been out all day and most of the night working a major murder case, and the precious few hours he could get to come home and sleep before having to go in to the office at 8:00 the following morning were like gold to him. Nothing that the police academy had taught him could have prepared him for the reality that being freshly promoted to the rank of detective was not as glamorous as TV made it appear.

He could acknowledge that some nights would call for sleepless vigils, but even a 27-year-old, freshly-instated detective could suffer from sleepiness if out on the job too many late nights in succession. Never mind that he had come in the top five in his graduating class at the academy, or that he had test scores and knowledge that would appear impressive to his peers; rest and sleep were still major necessities.

So as the phone continued to ring not too far from his head, Thaddeus was not full of cheer as he cracked his eyes open, raised his head, and looked at the luminous dial of his watch. 11:40. Yawning, he stretched over and took the phone off its cradle. "Hello?" he mumbled into the receiver.

"_Wake up, kid, it's Curtis,"_ his police partner's voice came through on the other end. _"Just got a call—STAR Labs caught on fire. The fire crews are down there dealing with it now, but we're needed down there too. I'm already on my way to get you."_

"But if they've got it covered, why do they need us?" Thaddeus asked, a bit more awake now as he shifted into a sitting position.

"_A sniper was found two blocks away from the scene."_

Now Thaddeus was fully awake. "Who got shot?"

"_Nobody, as it turns out, but he did try to pop someone,"_ said Curtis. _"That someone being the Flash…and it looks like he's the one who called both of them in. He's still down at STAR Labs with the sniper right now."_

Thaddeus blinked at this information. _The Flash…_ "I'll be ready in five minutes."

OOOOO

In what seemed no time at all, the detectives' car pulled up to the scene of the fire, where even at that moment fire-fighters were blasting jets of foam into the burning section of the STAR Labs building. "Looks like they've got it under control," Detective Hunter remarked.

His much older partner, Detective Frank Curtis, hailed a fireman who was standing by one of the fire engines. "How bad is it?" he asked, nodding his head toward the still-smoking insides of the building.

"Just one section got the most of it," the fireman answered. "The front office got some smoke damage and some charring, but we got here before it could spread any further. From what we can tell, there must have been some kind of accident that caused the explosion. We'll have to wait until it's cooled down enough before we can do any investigating, but right now it's safe to say this wasn't arson."

"Who called it in?" Hunter asked.

"Our friendly neighborhood Scarlet Speedster," and now the fireman grinned. "There he is, over there with your friends in blue," and he gestured to where the Flash was talking with some uniformed officers.

"Thanks," Curtis nodded, and he stepped in the direction of the Flash and the other officers with Hunter not too far behind him. "Hey, guys, we've got it from here," the older detective advised the officers.

The Flash, meanwhile, looked the two detectives over. "Uh, hi, guys," he said.

Curtis nodded at him in acknowledgement. "I'm Detective Curtis; my partner, Detective Hunter," he said. "We hear you called in the fire—and caught a sniper on top of it all, too."

"Yeah," Flash nodded. "The guy tried to put a bullet in my head, but I was too fast for him. I ran to where he was, knocked him out—next thing I knew, there was a big _boom_ coming from here, and I ran back to check if anybody might be inside."

"So where's this sniper now?" Curtis wanted to know.

"I think he's in one of your squad cars…yeah, there he is," Flash indicated the back of one of the police vehicles, where Gunhawk—now sans visor and bandana—sat, his head leaning against the window of the car door. "They already took his weapons, too."

Up to now Hunter hadn't said anything, but kept looking right at Flash during the conversation. Now he spoke, and there was a slight sneer in his tone. "So you're the guy wearing the red tights and running up and down the Central-Keystone area as its self-appointed defender now, right?" he asked. "Mind telling us what exactly you were doing in this part of town at this time of night in the first place—or why a sniper would be trying to kill you _here?"_

Flash shrugged. "I just happened to be close by, thought I'd stop by here and make sure everything was cool, and then everything happened like I said," he replied.

"So when you came back here, did you find anybody that might've been trapped inside?" Curtis took up the questioning again.

"I went as far in as I could to look, but the fire was too intense—I had to get back out," Flash shook his head.

"Guess your suit wasn't fire-proof, huh?" Hunter quipped.

"Detectives! We've got something here!"

All three of them looked up at the fireman's shout, then the two cops started forward. "Don't move from there," Hunter flung over his shoulder at Flash.

"What is it? You found the source of the fire?" Curtis inquired of the fireman.

"No…" The fireman looked grave. "We've got a body."

Hearing the statement from where he stood, Flash's eyes widened and his face turned pale.

"Where is it?" Hunter asked grimly.

"Still inside…" the fireman began, but just then one of his colleagues rushed out. "Eh? What?"

"The guy inside…he's still alive, but just barely…he needs a doctor, like, right now!" the second fireman announced.

"Central City Hospital's over in Chubbuck district…they won't be able to get an ambulance here fast enough…" Curtis gritted his teeth.

"I'll take him!" Flash spoke up suddenly, hurrying over to them. "Where is he? I'll take him there!"

"Step off, superhero. Haven't you done enough for one night?" Hunter snapped.

"Hey, hey, ease up, kid," Curtis urged his younger partner. "This'll probably be the guy's only shot to live. Go on, Flash—get him to that hospital."

Flash nodded, then turned to the second fireman. "Show me where he is."

The fireman quickly turned and headed inside, Flash following close behind him. Watching their departure for a moment, Curtis turned to Hunter. "What was _that?"_ he demanded.

"What? You're actually saying you approve of this guy doing _our_ job?" Hunter returned, his voice equally edged. "How do we even know he didn't set this whole thing up himself? The Commissioner's right—you can't trust guys who hide their identities behind masks and take the law into their own hands!"

A sudden breeze blew by them even as a red blur shot out of the building's doorway. "Well, that masked man is trying to help save someone's life tonight—that's what I see," Curtis said crisply.

Hunter glared in response, but said nothing.

OOOOO

_How could I have missed him?_

The question hammered repeatedly at Flash's mind even as he raced through traffic, carrying his burned burden as carefully as he could manage while trying not to go too fast so as to avoid causing any undue friction to the man in his arms. It kept nagging at him even as he pulled up to the front entrance of Central City Hospital a short while later, depositing him into a wheelchair and handing him over with a hurried explanation to the startled nurses on duty before rushing off even as they called for an emergency team to rush the man to surgery. It thundered in the back of his skull while he dashed home, entered the house, stripped off the costume and collapsed into bed, while only subconsciously taking care not to wake the sleeping Barry on the other side of their shared bedroom.

_How could I have missed him?_

In the darkness of the room, Jay lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing. _I went in there…he was in there…I looked…and he was there…and I didn't even see him._

He held his hand in front of his face, then tightened it into a defiant fist. _No. I couldn't have known he was even there. And the fire forced me back outside. At the very least, he was alive when those firemen found him, and I got him to the hospital as fast as I could…_

He felt haunted all of a sudden. _But please…please let him live._

Such was the plea that Jay echoed in his mind over and over, though sleep would not meet him for the rest of the night.

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 5**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—The West twins receive an invitation to attend a reunion party at their old high school, around the same time students at the institution start getting menaced by a knife-wielding masked killer! Next chapter—_Rag Doll!_


	6. Rag Doll

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 6: Rag Doll**

1:40 a.m., elsewhere in Central City.

Sheila Hanna woke up. She didn't know why she was awake at that hour of the night; her bedside alarm wasn't set to go off for at least another five hours. Her parents were asleep upstairs in their own room, and across the hall her younger sister was fast asleep too. But all Sheila was certain of, at this hour, was that she was awake. And she was nervous.

She couldn't figure out why she was nervous. After all, the doors and windows to the house were all securely locked, and the neighborhood their house was in wasn't known for criminal activity. But still she had an uneasy feeling.

Sheila had been away from Central City for the past four years since she graduated from Central City High, in order to take on business management studies at the Metropolis University. Oh, certainly she could have gone to the local college right here in her home town, but she had her reasons for wanting to go away from home to continue her studies.

Such as, what had happened in the years preceding her graduation…

She shook her head, trying to quash those particular memories, but they would not be put down. After all, the rumors she'd heard and the ominous e-mail she'd gotten upon her return to Central City were far too attached to those memories to be mere coincidence. That the e-mail had come within a day of her coming back to Central City, worded the way it was and forwarded to several other persons besides her, was even more spine-chilling. She'd shown it to her parents, who in turn called the police, who in turn promised to investigate…but since then there hadn't been any progress on the case, and that served to unnerve her even more.

She looked toward her bedroom window. It was locked, and her room was above ground level, so if anybody got the bright idea of sneaking into her house via that room, they'd have to be quite the acrobat. All the same, for her own peace of mind, Sheila got up, walked over to the window, and checked it.

Yes, locked. Sighing a little with some peace of mind restored, she turned away to come back to bed.

And sitting there on the edge of her bed, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering in through the window, was a figure in a yellow, black and white checker-design shirt, with red locks of hair and an impassive ivory-white face…a face that broke out into a razor-sharp grin as several blades flashed between the fingers of one menacing-looking hand. Sheila's eyes widened, but before she could think to open her mouth to scream, the intruder launched forward, grabbing her by the throat with one hand even as the blades were raised to the ceiling.

OOOOO

"_An explosion at STAR Labs in the Westminster district last night resulted in a fire that damaged much of the building's pyrotechnics laboratory. Dr. Lyle Byrnes, the pyrotechnics expert who was on duty at the time of the explosion, suffered severe burns to several sections of his body and had to be rushed to the Central City Hospital for emergency treatment. Up to news-time this morning, we understand that he was still undergoing surgery in the hospital's intensive-care unit. Meanwhile, several pieces of research equipment were extensively damaged or destroyed in the fire, and an adjoining section of the building also suffered smoke damage. The fire department was successful in putting out the blaze, but investigations are still ongoing as to what caused the explosion. The initial damage estimate stands at 85 million credits, and the building was insured."_

It was 7:30 in the morning at Jay and Barry's shared flat, and Barry was currently sitting on the couch in front of the TV with a plate of boiled sausages, a fried egg and two waffles with maple syrup. Eating slowly, he watched as a brief clip appeared on the screen with a fireman being interviewed. _"We got a call that there had been an explosion here at STAR Labs, and we responded promptly. On arrival, we were able to determine that the building's sprinkler systems had activated, but that the water wasn't extinguishing the blaze; as a result, we had to use fire-retardant foam to subdue the flames. On further investigation, we found a man had been trapped inside one of the rooms in the building, and he had suffered several second- and third-degree burns. He was promptly rushed to hospital for medical treatment."_

"Aw, man…" Barry winced as he listened to the report.

"Yawn…morning," Jay spoke up behind him, coming out of the bedroom and rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, you're finally awake?" Barry eyed him. "I was kind enough to leave your breakfast on the stove."

Blinking a little to get the sleep out of his eyes, Jay's gaze fell on the TV. At once the scenes of the previous night's fire-fighting activity caught his gaze, and he frowned deeply as the memory came home once more.

_Still can't believe I missed that guy…I hope he can pull through…_

OOOOO

Daniel Brickwell, the crime kingpin nicknamed the Brick, calmly sipped from his cup of coffee as he watched the newscast on TV. _"In related news, a gunman was captured by the Flash some two blocks away from the site of the STAR Labs fire. The man has been identified as Liam Hawkleigh, a former member of the U.S. Marines, but at this time details on what he was doing in the area last night are still sketchy. According to police reports, Hawkleigh and the Flash engaged in a confrontation, moments before the explosion at STAR Labs, although it is not clear at this time what, if anything, Hawkleigh had to do with the fire."_

Brick wasn't worried in the least about Gunhawk's failure to kill the Flash. Considering the sniper's past excellent record and professionalism, he would be given a compensation fee and a good lawyer. As for the speedster, he would be dealt with in due time, if he became a direct threat to Brick's operations. But for now, Brick was satisfied knowing that the STAR Labs fire, incidental though it had been and having not been part of Hyatt's arrangement with Gunhawk to off Flash, had been potent enough that the police were kept busy while his anticipated merchandise were transported safely and without interruption to his warehouse.

OOOOO

"_In the meantime, the local authorities have indicated in a brief statement to our newsroom this morning that they want to question the Flash further, regarding the events of last night's STAR Labs fire and the arrest of former U.S. Marine Liam Hawkleigh. Although there are currently no reports of any evidence, circumstantial or concrete, to link the Scarlet Speedster to last night's events, nonetheless it remains to be seen how this will impact on the ongoing talks between Central City Mayor Jasmine Russell and Keystone City Mayor Brenton Gayle over deputizing the Scarlet Speedster as the local masked crime-fighter for the Central-Keystone area."_

There was a knock on the door. "Come on in, it's open!" Barry called.

Moments later, Daphne burst in. "Barry, did you hear? Professor Byrnes is in the hospital!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, it was just on the news," Barry replied. "Poor guy…I hope he makes it, though."

"Me, too," Daphne replied. "He was always a dedicated researcher from the time he joined STAR Labs…it'll be really awful if we lose him now."

Jay, still dishing out his breakfast in the kitchen, said nothing.

"_In other news, police are still sifting for clues following last night's murder of a woman inside her home, while her other family members were fast asleep. Dead is 26-year-old Sheila Hanna, a resident of the New Brighton district in Central City."_

"What?" Daphne's eyes widened on hearing the victim's name. "Didn't she go to Central City High with us?"

"She sure did," Barry nodded. "Hey, Jay, didn't you used to date her at one time?" he directed the question at his brother, who was only now coming out of the kitchen with his food on a plate.

"Quiet, twip! I want to hear the news!" Jay shushed him, even as he sat down and began to dig into his breakfast.

"_Hanna's lifeless body was found with multiple stab wounds by her parents early this morning, after 6:00; at this moment, police officers are still processing the scene of the crime, and statements are being taken from the family," _said the news anchor._ "At the time of her death, Hanna, who was a former cheerleader for Central City High, had returned home from Metropolis, where she was pursuing a business management degree at that city's university, to attend Central City High's upcoming Alumni Association party for the class of 2051."_

"The Alumni Association party? Oh, yeah…" Daphne slapped her palm on her forehead in annoyance.

"_Hanna's death brings to four, in as many weeks, the number of persons who have been killed under similar puzzling circumstances—all knifed inside their homes despite the doors and windows being locked at the time of each attack,"_ the news anchor continued. _"Previously, three persons—Evan Walters, Ira Ottey, and Julia Xavier, all of varying Central City addresses—were attacked and killed in similar brutal fashion. So far, the only confirmed links between the four victims are that they were all past students of Central City High School, and prior to their deaths each had received an ominous e-mail with death threats. Anyone who has received similar messages in recent times is being asked to contact the police immediately."_

"I remember all of them," Jay said presently, his mouth full. "Walters was on the baseball team, Ottey was on the wrestling team, and Julia Xavier was in one of the popular all-girl cliques."

"I remember Julia, too," Barry shook his head. "I remember one time I tried to ask her out on a date…she dumped her chocolate milk on me in response. Everybody in the cafeteria laughed at me that day."

"Well, it _was_ pretty funny…" Jay snickered a little.

"Is it funny to dangle people's feelings on a string like they're your puppets?" Daphne glowered. "Besides, I remember Julia, too. I tried to join her little gang, she acted like she wanted to be my best friend…turned out she only wanted to use me to get easy A's in her math classes."

"And those guys, Evan and Ira, of _course_ you'd remember them only for sports, Jay," Barry added, his face darkening as past memories came back. "I remember the first few months of high school…they made a game out of which one of them would be the first to knock my books out of my hands for the day, or which one of them could steal my juice boxes at lunchtime…of course, that was before _you_ took it on yourself to relieve them of those duties."

"Hey, be grateful—at least I took you out of their cross-hairs all throughout high school," Jay said dismissively. "But, Daphne, you were saying about the Alumni party…?"

"I got an invitation to attend the party a little while back, as a member of the graduating class of '51," said Daphne. "It was forwarded to everybody who was in that class…that should include both of you."

"Yeah, I got an invitation, too," said Barry. "It's set for the last Sunday night in this month. That's this coming Sunday."

"Shouldn't we be a little worried about these killings and how they'll affect the party?" asked Jay. "Maybe they'll have to put it off, at the rate these murders are happening. Plus, all four of these people were members of _our_ graduating class."

"I'll send a message to the organizer and ask about that," said Daphne. "In the meantime, has either of you gotten any threatening message, like the news just said? I haven't, as far as I can recall."

"I haven't," said Barry. "You, Jay?"

"I don't think so…but then again, I haven't had a chance to check my personal mail recently," Jay admitted. "If the bogeyman sent me something, though, I'll be sure to let you know, okay?"

"If he has, write him back and ask him to snatch you away," Daphne muttered under her breath.

Shaking his head, Jay continued eating the rest of his breakfast…but his eyes were now narrowed as he considered what next to do.

OOOOO

Later that morning, over at the Westminster division's precinct…the Flash appeared outside in a red streak. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, he walked up the steps and pulled the door open, going up to the officer at the front desk. "Morning, officer," he said casually.

The officer looked briefly at him—then did a double-take when he realized who was standing in front of him. "Whoa, it's the Flash!" he almost shouted. "What brings you here?"

"There was a news report this morning…it said you guys want to ask me some more questions about the STAR Labs fire last night," said Flash. "I gave statements to Detectives Curtis and Hunter…are they here?"

"Yes, we are," a voice spoke up from behind; turning, Flash beheld the two detectives coming through the door. "We were just on our way back, and who do we see strolling up into the precinct with such confidence? You, of course!" Detective Thaddeus Hunter continued.

"Sooo…I guess I'll be talking with you for a while, then?" Flash asked.

"This shouldn't be too long; we just have a couple more questions from last night," Detective Frank Curtis said smoothly. "Come on, we'll show you inside."

The detectives turned and walked further into the precinct, Flash following behind them even as the uniformed police officers on duty paused what they were doing to take in the fact that the local masked hero was in their presence. The trio soon came to a small interview room, in which there were a table and three chairs; while Hunter closing the door, Curtis pulled up one of the chairs and gestured to Flash to take a seat.

"So this is what a questioning room looks like," Flash remarked as he sat. "Looks a little roomier than what they show in the dramas on TV."

"Heh. Never heard that one before," Curtis said, amused. "You know, just this morning I was telling my kids that I met you last night. My son's become a big fan of yours—he wants to get a picture with you one of these days."

Hunter cleared his throat. "Let's get right to the point," he spoke up. "All right, Flash. Last night, STAR Labs, the explosion, the fire, that sniper guy. What do all of those have in common? You were at STAR Labs before the blow-up, and immediately after, and you had a fight with the sniper." He crossed over to where Flash sat and loomed over him. "Question is, why were you there in the first place?"

Flash looked levelly at Hunter in turn. "I got a tip that something was going to happen at STAR Labs," he answered. "So I thought I'd pass by there and check, just to be on the safe side."

"Where'd this tip come from?" asked Curtis.

"It was given to Dexter Myles at the Flash Museum, and he shared it with me," said Flash. "I don't know who the tipper was, though—it wasn't signed or anything."

"Hmph. Pretty convenient." Hunter stood up straight and crossed his arms. "So what about the sniper? Why would he be there at the exact same time as you?"

"I don't know," Flash shrugged. "Maybe the tip was a set-up to kill me, and he was the hired gun. Why don't you ask him?"

"We've talked to him, but he refused to divulge any information except his nickname, Gunhawk," said Curtis. "So we figured, hey, since you're the one in the famous red suit and also the one who _wasn't _holding the sniper rifle we confiscated, maybe you could give us a bit more info than he did, that's all."

"Well, I know about as much as you. Sorry." Flash shook his head.

"Really?" Hunter sat on the edge of the table, again looming over Flash with his arms crossed. "Well, you know what I think? I think you went to STAR Labs to sabotage it for whatever reason, and the sniper was actually there on an assignment to _stop_ you." His voice took on a hard edge. "I think there was no tip-off—you went there with your own premeditated motive, you found the sniper and stopped him before he could stop you, then you lurked around after the explosion to make yourself look good. We did a background check on the other guy—turns out 'Gunhawk' is really Liam Hawkleigh, a decorated Marine who served his country on a number of tours of duty—and by contrast, what do we even know about you? Certainly not whose face is behind this red mask of yours…" As he spoke, he reached forward with one hand toward Flash's face.

Flash promptly pulled back. "Sorry, but I'd rather keep the mask on, please," he said firmly.

"Why?" Hunter challenged. "If you're as trustworthy as some people seem to think, what've you got to hide? The only people who hide behind masks are guilty people, my friend, and right now you're not looking very innocent."

"Hey, Hunter, if the kid wants to keep his mask on, let him keep his mask on—just wearing a mask isn't a crime in itself, you know," Curtis said reasonably.

"But taking the law into your own hands while wearing a mask is," Hunter countered.

Flash looked from one to the other of them. "Oh, wait—I get it. This is that old 'good cop, bad cop' routine, right? And you're the 'good cop,' and he's the 'bad cop'?" he asked, pointing first at Curtis and then at Hunter.

Curtis clapped his hands once. "Whaddaya know—he's on to us! Guess we'd better drop the act, huh, kid?" he said jokingly to his younger partner.

"What act?" Hunter's face held no humor. "This guy hasn't said one thing yet that proves he's innocent."

"You know, when I saw the news report this morning about you guys wanting to talk to me, I wasn't under the impression I was under arrest for anything," said Flash, leaning back in his chair. "So…what exactly is the charge here? Aside from 'just wearing a mask,' that is," he added, eyeing Hunter.

"Well, you're right—you're not under arrest, and we're not charging you for anything," said Curtis.

"YET," interjected Hunter.

"Look, why don't you go talk to Mr. Myles? He'll confirm what I've told you about that tip-off," insisted Flash.

"Don't worry, we'll do that soon enough," Curtis assured him. "For the time being, though, we'll take your word for it that it all happened like you said it did."

"_You_ might be willing to take his word for it, Curtis—I'm not." Hunter thrust his face close to Flash's. "You listen to me real good, speed-freak. I'm not one of your blindly loyal fans who're just going to jump on the bandwagon and hail your appearance in Central City just because you're following in some dead guy's footsteps. If you want to play being a cop, ditch the red pajamas and go train at the police academy like _real_ cops do. End of story. Am I clear?"

Flash sucked on his own lower lip for a moment, then released it. "May I say something?" he asked, turning his head slightly to look at the older detective.

"Please," Curtis invited him.

Flash nodded once. "I'm not trying to displace the police of this city or put any of you out of work. I'm just a guy who wants to do his civic duty, just like anybody else; it's just that I've decided to wear red pajamas to do it. I'd just like to think that maybe, just maybe, I can help make your workload a little lighter so that you get to go home to your friends and family more than you do now. As far as being the Flash goes, I'd like to think that the guy who wore the suit before me had a good relationship with the cops of his time, seeing as how the Flash Museum still exists in his honor. I'd like to think that, maybe not now but sometime eventually, I can have the same kind of relationship with the police here and throughout the city. Just because I'm not wearing a badge and have never been to the academy doesn't mean we necessarily have to oppose one another. Plenty of people who live here don't have badges either, but they do their part to fight crime nonetheless; and I want to be one of those. If you want me to keep out of the way of your investigations, I've no problem with that. If you come to me and ask me to help even a little, I've no problem with that either. But either way, I still want to do what little I can to make the Central-Keystone area a bit of a better place for all of us who live here. And, red pajamas or not, that's what I'm going to do."

He paused. "Can I go now?"

"If you're done with your sappy preaching," Hunter said dryly.

Nodding, Flash stood up and walked toward the door. As he opened it, he paused and looked right at Hunter. "P.S., detective—what's clear is that you should make friends with a breath-mint." And then he sped out of the room.

Hunter's face turned red with fury. "Why, that pompous little…"

Curtis, meanwhile, was trying and failing to stifle his laughter. "C'mon, kid, grow a sense of humor, would you?" he cracked.

"You can stay there and laugh all day if you want. Some of us have actual police business to do…like investigating these serial murders that are popping up," Hunter said sourly. "Four people dead in four weeks, all connected to the Central City High class of 2051, and their alumni party's coming up this Sunday night…"

Curtis was immediately sober. "Yeah…Sheila Hanna's parents said she'd come back to town for that," he said. "So what's our next step?"

"I say we round up a list of all the '51 graduates, find out where they are and how many of them are in town for this reunion…and hope we don't end up with another body on our hands anytime soon," grunted Hunter.

"All right, then; let's get digging," said Curtis, standing up.

OOOOO

The mysterious figure sat alone in the darkly silhouetted room, face framed in shadow while nimble fingers sharpened and re-sharpened the various knife-blades that were set together on the small wooden coffee-table. Off to one side, dark blue window-drapes kept out most of the sunlight. On the nearby bed the white mask lay, with its attached artificial red hair not now free-flowing as before, but very still.

There would be time to have the hair flowing again once the mask was donned, but for the time being preparation of the knives was paramount. These knives had tasted blood four times now…they silently begged to taste more.

_Patience, my friends, patience…soon, very soon, you will drink again._

Setting the knives and their accompanying sharpening stone aside for the moment, the figure went across to a desk on which sat a picture of a group of young people and a marker. Three big red X's had already been crossed over three of the young people's faces; now, picking up the marker, the individual made a brand new red X-mark over the face of a young woman in the photo.

_You are not receiving punishment. You are not receiving vengeance. You are merely receiving your just rewards._

A pair of dark eyes carefully scanned the photo and the faces in it that remained unmarked. _Some among you need not fear, for you are innocent. Others among you have sinned, but you saw how wicked you were and repented in time._

The dark eyes narrowed. _And then there are still others among you…those who sinned boldly and have refused to confess their guilt, or those who saw their fellows sinning but facilitated them instead of remonstrating with them. These are alike guilty. These shall alike be rewarded for their sins._

The eyes focused on the picture, scanning the various faces again. _Many among you have gone your ways, to distant places, to start new lives…but some among you have returned. And one by one, I will visit upon you the reaping of your sins._

Fingertips traced from one unmarked face in the picture to another. _Like a rag doll, you have twisted and tossed about the innocent by your sins…like a broken puppet, you the unjust have played carelessly with the just…but you must be sure your sins will find you out._

Slowly, gradually, a sinister grin formed on the figure's face. _Freely you have given. Freely receive._

OOOOO

Jay was now on the Central City University campus for his afternoon News Writing class. As he walked along the school block leading to where the class would be kept, his mind drifted to recent events.

_What a lot of things to happen in such a short space of time…last night I failed to find a guy in a burning building and only managed to get him to hospital because the fire-fighters pointed him out…then this morning I found out that four of my high school batch-mates got killed by some serial killer nutcase…and now I'm aware of the existence of another cop who'd like to put the bracelets on me just for wearing a superhero mask. Oh, brother…_

He was so deeply in thought that as he rounded the corner to the doorway where his class would be, he bumped full-tilt into someone coming around the corner at the exact same moment. "Ack!" the other person cried, dropping some books in the process.

"Whoops, sorry," Jay said automatically. Then he looked again at who he'd bumped into. "Hey…it's the girl I met at the library…"

In front of him, Gail Manners was now bending down to pick up her dropped books. "Sorry, I should've been watching where I was going," she said apologetically. "Clumsy me."

"No, no, it's my fault—I guess my mind wasn't here," said Jay, bending down to assist her. "I didn't think I'd see you again this soon, though."

"My class just finished—now I have to get to my shift at the library," Gail explained. "Do you have class here, now?"

"Yeah, just about," said Jay. "News Writing."

"Oh? Then you plan on being a reporter?" Gail looked surprised. "Maybe a sports-caster?"

"Maybe. Who knows?" Jay shrugged, handing Gail the books he'd picked up for her.

Gail looked at him. "Um…"

"What?" Jay asked.

Just as quickly, Gail shook her head and looked away quickly. "No, nothing. I, uh, I gotta go. Maybe I'll see you around sometime." And she hurried off before Jay could say anything.

Jay looked on as Gail left. "Hmph…weird," he muttered, before turning and continuing on his way…although if he'd paused to keep looking at her just a moment more, he might have seen her glancing back at him before resuming her hurrying away.

OOOOO

"Well, that was fruitful," Detective Curtis remarked as he and Detective Hunter sat together in their car, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. In one hand the older detective had a list of printed names, and stapled to that was a photocopy of the photograph that had been taken of the 2051 graduating class of Central City High School. "Good thing the school secretary was so cooperative, to give us this list."

Beside him, Hunter was going through photocopies of the school's 2051 yearbook. "Well, considering that four of their past students have been killed under strange circumstances in the last four weeks, why wouldn't they cooperate?" he asked. "All right, let's go over what we know already…"

"All four of these kids were in the same graduation batch, all four were murdered with knives inside their own houses, and all four had gotten invitations to the alumni party for the class of '51 this Sunday," Curtis summarized. "What else?"

"All four received death threats in their e-mails some time before they were killed," Hunter reminded him. "And going by what the yearbook info says…all four were part of the school's 'in' crowd. Evan Walters and Ira Ottey were involved in the school's sports teams, Julia Xavier was a member of a pretty popular clique, and Sheila Hanna was a cheerleader."

Curtis snorted. "Great—so the nut-job behind the murders is targeting the cool-slash-popular kids," he grumbled. "So, what, the killer was one of the high school losers?"

"At least it narrows down the list of possible people that might get targeted next," Hunter said helpfully. "There were 120 students in that year's graduating class. Including our four victims, forty-two of this number were part of extracurricular activities involving sports, or were touted as being among the most well-liked or most sought-after kids during their tenure."

"Come on, that can't be the only connecting link between them," Curtis complained, making a rude noise with his teeth. "When I was growing up, there were plenty of cool kids at my high school, but we never had anybody knifing them to death prior to any of our reunions."

"How many of your reunions _did_ you go to?" Hunter asked with a smirk.

"I went to the first three after I graduated college. Then I got married and forgot to send RSVPs for the rest," Curtis deadpanned.

"I've never gone to any of mine—why bother when we have social networking sites to keep in touch anyways?" said Hunter. "As for any other connections…well, obviously Walters, Ottey and Hanna would've had to interact through sports—but that makes Xavier the odd one out, since she was never involved in any sports, according to the school's record. And we don't have any record that the four of them ever had any classes with one another."

"Well, they had to have had _something_ in common," Curtis insisted. "Not to mention the other kids on the list who might become this psycho's targets."

"What do you suggest?" asked Hunter.

"The tech boys at the crime lab already have the victims' computers, right? And they're going through the e-mails to check out any links between the threatening messages," Curtis told him. "Let's head back to the precinct and find out if they've found anything to that effect. If we can find the common denominator that way, maybe then we can find out what exactly our killer's looking for in the victims he picks."

Hunter took another gulp of his coffee. "But, you know, one thing still bugs me about this. The victims were all killed inside their houses, but in each case the doors and windows were already locked from the inside. How'd the killer get in?"

"Well, they sure wouldn't have willingly opened the front door in the middle of the night just to get knifed," replied Curtis. "Let's hope the CSI guys can help us figure out that part, too."

OOOOO

The setting sun in the distance slowly gave way to the growing glow of the rising moon in Central City's night sky. And alone in the dark room, the mystery figure watched the two orbs of light, one leaving and the other arriving, and slowly the figure grinned.

_Darkness rises. The innocent shall rest in safety. The guilty shall be served their due reward._

The red-haired, white-skinned mask was reached for and pulled on over the killer's head. Then the shirt with the yellow, white and black checker-style design, which lay on the nearby bed waiting to be worn. A pair of loose black pants with black-and-white checker-style designs from the shins down, held in place by a red sash, completed the outfit. Carefully, the killer slipped knife after knife into various hidden places in the clothes, beneath the shirt-sleeves and sash-belt, and smaller blades were hidden under the gloves.

The dark eyes scanned the same picture of young people from before. _Only four more risings of the sun from tonight…more than enough time to bring the rewards of their sins to the unrepentant among you…and then…everything will come to a climax, with the chief of sinners being made to face the returns that come of trampling on the innocent without apology._

The figure's fingers grabbed a nearby marker while the picture was studied once more. The view settled on two faces, both of which looked rather similar from this viewpoint. Hesitating momentarily, the killer presently turned to a side-table and opened its drawer, pulling out a big black leather-covered book from its depths. The book was opened and the pages scanned…until the same two similar-looking faces from the photograph were found, side by side, with writing underneath each face as with all the others in the book.

The mask's mouth stretched into a foreboding grin once again. _Yes…the chief of sinners…a shame this one should be related to the greatest saint among the innocent of this group…but then again, Cain and Abel were relatives too. Only this time…only this time, it will not be Abel who is martyred, but it will be Cain who faces judgment._

The marker was used to make a blood-red circle around one of the two faces. _Your turn will come at the appointed time…but not yet. Not yet. You must first be made to feel fear as, one by one, your fellow sinners receive their reward for their un-repented actions. And when at last your turn shall come…then you shall beg for forgiveness for your sins…yet at that time, you who are unjust, you will remain unjust still, and have your part in the lake of fire that awaits all sinners!_

The figure set the marker down and replaced the book in the drawer, then in several agile movements hopped over to the nearby window, pulled back the drape to reveal the fresh light of the moon, opened the window, jumped up on the windowsill, and leaped off into the growing night.

OOOOO

Morton Young read the message in his e-mail. He read it again. And again. Yet no matter how many times he read it, the message would not magically change or disappear.

_Guilt by association is just as evil as open and blatant sin, and shall be rewarded with equal measure if not confessed and repented of. You are warned, Morton Young. You stood by and did not prevent sinners from committing their actions, and your lack of remonstration will now catch up to you._

The e-mail had come from an unknown source, so he couldn't know with certainty who had sent it. It had been sitting in his inbox for quite a while, first arriving not long after he got the other e-mail inviting him to attend the Central City High class of 2051's alumni get-together and had sent back a reply stating his intention to come. The header for the mystery message had seemed rather innocuous, the standard "To Mr. M. Young," and since he didn't know of any other M. Youngs with his specific e-mail address, he'd opened it. And, yes, he'd read the message at that time, albeit ready to pass it off as a bad prank, since no further mystery messages came afterward.

Then came the first news report about Evan Walters' bizarre murder, being found stabbed to death inside his own house despite the doors and windows being locked from the inside.

Although Morton had seen it as a tragedy, especially since Walters was himself a Central City High alumnus, ultimately he'd passed it off as a weird but otherwise senseless snuffing out of life that could have happened to anybody. Perhaps, he'd reasoned, the killer must have broken into Walters' house through some not-too-obvious means to commit robbery, got surprised by Walters, and stabbed him in a scuffle. But when the reports of the next two deaths, Ira Ottey and Julia Xavier, made it clear that they too had graduated from the same school and were killed under the same circumstances, Morton began to feel a little anxious. The latest murder, that of Sheila Hanna, plus the details that all of them were of the class of '51 and had received similar threatening e-mails prior to their deaths, made Morton curse himself for not being as observant and proactive as he could have, _should_ have been.

Well, whoever this killer was, they weren't going to get Morton Young without a fight. After seeing the news report about Sheila Hanna that morning, he'd contacted the police, and during the course of the day they came and asked him questions, jotted down his answers, took his contact information and left theirs with him in case of an emergency, and left. And even now, hours later at 9:00 p.m., a police car was cruising around the block, something he knew they had set in place to protect him and ideally serve as a deterrent to the knife-loving prowler.

But Morton had taken his own initiative, arming himself with whatever he could easily grab and use as a club or projectile—a baseball bat, a clothing iron, a kitchen stool, a folding chair, a hammer—and just now he was camped out in the middle of his living room, sitting cross-legged in a corner with his improvised weapons close at hand. If he had his back to the wall, there was no way the psycho could surprise him. The lights were on, but tonight the TV wasn't—he didn't want to have his sense of hearing distracting him from any noise the prowler might make breaking in.

**Thump.**

Morton immediately got into a crouching position, grabbing the hammer in one hand and the iron in another. Eyes narrowed, he sent a darting glance from one side of the room to the other. His lips pursed shut, he tensed and waited.

**Thump. Thump.**

"Come on, freak! Come and get me!" Morton snapped. "You want some of this? Come and get it, pal!"

Silence was the only response he got.

As quietly as he could, the stillness broken only by the noise of his own breathing echoing in his ears, Morton stood up and glanced toward the window. The police car hadn't made its way back around the block yet. Only two more minutes before they'd come around again. He knew the police wouldn't be able to see him through the window from the road, though; hopefully, as soon as he got a glimpse of them coming again, he could rush out and let them know that the intruder had somehow gotten inside.

If there _was_ an intruder.

**Clatter, clatter, thump!**

The noise was more distinct, coming from somewhere in the kitchen. Rapid footsteps were heard coming from there. Morton gripped his weapons and braced himself. The footsteps were coming faster, faster.

He swiveled in the direction of the footsteps, bat at the ready—

_Squeak! Squeak! _A rat was on the prowl, hurrying across the kitchen floor.

Morton immediately felt, simultaneously, relieved and idiotic. All that agitation over a rat—a rat he'd have to set traps for, granted, but otherwise just a regular rat that was just doing what rats would do in scavenging for food.

Shaking his head, Morton relaxed…not realizing that at that moment a menacing red-haired, white-faced figure was looming behind him, with a huge knife upraised and ready to strike…

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 6**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—Daphne and Barry get some news from Central City High's alumni party organizer about the upcoming Sunday event! Detectives Curtis and Hunter continue their investigations into the bizarre killings that seem to be targeting the past popular members of the 2051 graduating class! And even as Jay contemplates that he might be a target as well, he runs afoul of the killer while patrolling as the Flash and discovers that his new enemy has bizarre abilities! Next chapter—_Screwball Slasher!_

(Additional character commentary: Frank Curtis was a detective who appeared in the comics during Barry Allen's run as the Flash. Thaddeus Hunter is a character of my own creation, but his name comes from the first names of two evil counterparts to two members of the Flash legacy: _Thaddeus_ Thawne, a.k.a. Inertia, who opposed Bart Allen, a.k.a. Impulse; and _Hunter _Zolomon, the second Zoom the Reverse-Flash, who opposed Wally West when he was the Flash.)


	7. Screwball Slasher

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 7: Screwball Slasher**

6:30 the next morning, the police were ruefully spreading crime-scene tape across the front lawn of Morton Young's house, while crime-scene investigators inside took photographs of the living room, where the young man's body lay in a bloody heap with numerous stab wounds. Close by the CSIs, Detectives Hunter and Curtis looked at the corpse. "Here lies Morton Young, 25 years old, late of Central City," Curtis intoned. "Killed despite being under police watch."

"Ineffective police watch, I'd add," growled Hunter. "Circling the block in your cruiser is not how you play the bodyguard."

Leaving the CSIs to their work, the two officers stepped outside. "So let's review what else we know about this latest victim," said Curtis, going through his notes. "Like the others, Young was a member of Central City High's graduating class of '51; like the others, we know he got an invitation to the alumni get-together for Sunday; unlike the others, he wasn't ever involved in any sports activities, nor was he on the 'cool kids' radar. Generally, a nice guy, according to neighbors, and never gave them or his landlord any trouble."

"A real saint," Hunter said dryly, also going through his own notes. "Maybe that's why he got killed—he was too good for this world. Okay, let's see what else…from what the yearbook info we got said, he was a member of the school's drama club during his junior and senior years, specializing in 'helpful advisor' roles from the old Shakespeare plays."

"Maybe he gave the killer some bad advice at some point," Curtis quipped. "How about family?"

"Mother died when he was young, father died in a traffic crash two years before his high school graduation," Hunter reported. "He's got a brother in Star City, a sister in Gotham and another sister in Coast City. We'll have to contact them soon…"

Suddenly he broke off. "Oh, great, the media's here. Don't they _ever_ sleep?"

True enough, a news van was just pulling up outside the house, and a reporter and a cameraman emerged from it. "Xander Walter and the Central-Keystone news gang," observed Curtis. "Let's just give them an official statement and send them out of here. The sooner we get them off our backs, the easier I'll breathe."

"You and me both," agreed Hunter.

The detectives walked up to Xander Walter even as the reporter and his cameraman were readying their gear. On seeing the officers, Walter perked up. "Detectives! It's been a while," he hailed them.

"Not long enough," Hunter sniped at him.

"Okay, you don't like reporters—I get that already," Walter rolled his eyes. "But can we at least get a couple of comments from you about this case? Then we'll be out of your way, I promise."

"A promise, not a guarantee," Curtis said flatly. "But sure, why not? You have to earn your bread, like the rest of us. I get that. Just be tactful about this report, understand? We haven't informed the next of kin yet."

Nodding, Walter held his microphone to the senior detective's face. "Anytime you're ready."

OOOOO

"_Investigations are still ongoing, but at this time we're following some strong leads into this series of killings that have happened in the past four weeks,"_ Detective Frank Curtis declared in the newscast interview. _"Unfortunately, we have no suspects in custody as yet, but the public can rest assured that we will be working tirelessly to bring this perpetrator to justice. In the meantime, we the police of Central City are asking you the public, if you have any information that can assist in our investigations, please do not hesitate to contact your nearest precinct…"_

"Following some strong leads? What a crock," Jay snapped, flinging a pillow at the TV. "Five people dead, all from our graduating class, and all the police can say is that they're 'following some strong leads'?"

"Come on, Jay, give them a break," Barry said reproachfully. "It's not like they have a lot working with, you know."

"Whatever," Jay sighed. "Have you heard back from Daphne about the party?"

"I got a call from her last night," Barry told him. "She's planning to go see the alumni organizer in person, and she asked me to tag along. From the looks of things, I'm willing to guess the organizer might call off or at least postpone the event."

"Maybe; these killings will probably have scared off everybody else," Jay said darkly.

Barry cocked an eyebrow at him. "Speaking of which, have you checked your e-mail like Daphne asked?"

"Why should I? I'm not afraid of a knife-wielding freak!" Jay argued defiantly.

"Would you stop being bull-headed for one minute and just do it?" Barry protested. "I mean, suppose you're next on this person's list of targets?"

"Why me? Why not _you?"_ Jay smirked nastily.

"Because I was always the less popular twin of the two of us, and I was never into sports…how about that, for starters?" asked Barry. "Oh, and I wasn't a bully, either."

Jay frowned. "Hey, Morton Young wasn't a sports guy either, and he never hung out with any of the cool kids during our time there," he said defensively.

"Then why's he dead with the rest of them?" Barry asked pointedly. "Anyways, I've already checked my e-mail just to be on the safe side—and yeah, I'm still safe. You'd be smart to check for yourself too." And with that he headed for the door. "I'm going to link up with Daphne now. Catch you later." And then he was gone.

Alone, Jay leaned back on the couch—but now his face was more serious as he pondered what Barry had just said. _Hmm…it IS weird that Morton would be killed along with the others…I mean, sure, Evan Walters and Ira Ottey were standard-issue jocks, Julia Xavier was a major alpha-queen, and Sheila Hanna was a cheerleader…but I know for sure Morton wasn't involved in sports or part of the in-crowd…_

Getting up from the couch, he went over to where the computer sat on its desktop; it was still on, likely left on by Barry for him to check his e-mail. Logging into his account, Jay was greeted with the familiar sight of new mail, these listed above the most recently-opened message that contained his own invitation to the upcoming class of '51 get-together.

_Spam…spam…social network site update…spam…social network site update…okay, looks like that's it. Nothing from any scary serial killer. Looks like I'm safe, after all!_

He exited the last new message and went back to the main menu, showing the number of new inbox messages at zero—and just as he did that, a brand new message came in. "Oh," Jay frowned as he saw it. Peering at the message header, he read, "To Mr. J. West," then opened it.

What he saw made him stay as still as a statue.

_Chief of sinners well you be, you'll get no forgiveness from me. Watch as your fellow sinners fall, and then at last for you I'll call. The greatest reward for sin is always reserved for the greatest sinner, and you will soon pay for your sins forever. These five thus far were fortunate to get quick retribution…but for you, when I shall reach you, retribution will be so great that you will beg for death, and death will not come soon enough for you. Confess your sins all you want, but now it is too late for repentance for you…all that is left is for you to die. I will see you soon, very soon, Jay West!_

Jay blinked a little as he read the message again. Then, very quietly, he shut the computer down.

_I need some air._

OOOOO

Minutes later, Jay found his footsteps leading him to the Central City University campus, and thenceforth to the library. He didn't know why. He wasn't particularly fond of the library for its own merit; even the other day when he'd come here to do his research on the buildings that Shockwave had damaged, that had been simply a means to an end to stop a super-villain. Yet before he knew it, he found himself on the library's second floor, sitting down at a table by himself with his face in his hands.

_I'm so glad Barry can't see me now…he'd never let me hear the end of it._

Approaching footsteps caught his ears. "Excuse me, are you all right?" a gentle voice asked.

Looking up from out of his hands, Jay found himself beholding the face of Gail Manners. "What are you…?" he started.

"I was just coming for my shift here at the library, and I saw you…you looked upset, so I thought maybe I'd come see what was the matter." Gail shook her head, suddenly quite flustered. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, I guess you just wanted your privacy." She turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Jay said, a little too loudly. "Sorry," he added, remembering he was in a library, even as persons sitting at nearby tables looked up from their own work to stare in his direction. "Uh, look, that's not what I meant," he addressed Gail more quietly. "Um…do you have a minute?"

Having halted at Jay's shout, Gail now turned to him. "Sure," she said, sitting at the table with him. "Is everything all right?"

Jay took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I'd say yes…but I'd be lying." He hung his head a little, looking down at his hands on the table before him. "You know…I don't even know why I'm even saying any of this. I guess maybe I just need to vent, or something."

"Well, I don't know if I'm the right person you'd need to talk to, but sometimes letting it all out in the open helps," said Gail.

Jay nodded. "Yeah…tell me, do you know about the murders that have been happening recently?"

"The five past students of Central City High? I saw the reports last night and this morning." Gail considered Jay. "Were they friends of yours?"

"I knew some of them, but they weren't exactly friends. We were all in the same graduation batch, that's about it," said Jay. "I just wish I could figure out why the creep who killed them would do it. It's not like they ever did anything to deserve it…"

Gail looked thoughtful. "You know, Jay…the reports said that all the people who were killed, they all had some kind of social prominence at Central City High. Two liked sports, one was a cheerleader, one was a queen bee, and one was in the drama club."

"So what?" asked Jay.

"Maybe the person behind all this might have been jealous of them," suggested Gail.

But Jay shook his head. "That doesn't make sense," he protested. "I mean, I always saw Morton Young—the drama club guy—and he was never one for the spotlight. Sure, he was active in the drama club, but other than that you'd probably see him in a crowd and pass him off as just some regular guy."

"But he was killed along with the other four," Gail said pointedly. "Why? What could he have had in common with them that made him a special target for this person?"

Jay frowned as he considered the question. "I'm stumped on that one," he said at last.

Gail gave Jay a long look. "Listen…I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but I have to ask," she said. "Are you thinking this person might come after you?"

Remembering the e-mail that he'd read a short while before, Jay's eyes narrowed. "After seeing what's happened, I'm not going to rule anything out…but I hope it doesn't happen," he answered.

"Why not just go to the police? I'm sure they should be able to give you protection," Gail suggested.

"They had a guard-watch on Morton Young, too, and look how well that turned out," Jay grunted.

"Try not to be so pessimistic," Gail said quietly. "Just play your part in ensuring your safety, and trust the authorities to do their duty. I'm sure they'll catch this person very soon, before more lives are lost. Have faith, Jay."

"I guess," Jay shrugged. "You know…it's weird…I've said all of this to you, yet I barely know you."

"I barely know you, too, but I lent a listening ear to you, didn't I?" asked Gail, as a small smile played on her mouth. "No man is his own island; we can't carry the weight of the world all on our shoulders, or else we'll get crushed. Try and remember that." She stood up. "I have to go now…but at least think on what I'm saying, okay?"

Jay nodded. "All right. And…thanks." And then he watched as Gail, giving him a brief goodbye wave, walked away to start her shift on library duty.

OOOOO

"WHAT?" Daphne exclaimed, leaning forward in her seat as she stared disbelievingly at the girl sitting across from her. "You can't be serious! Five people are already dead—people from this graduating class—and you're still going to have the alumni party?"

"Daph, calm down!" Barry urged her. "Sorry, Alex."

The girl they were addressing, Alexandra Merkel, a redhead with piercing blue eyes, was unmoved at Daphne's outburst. "It's tragic about what happened to those members of our graduation batch, but life has to go on," she said simply. "Besides, if we postpone or cancel the event because there's a crazy person running loose, all we'll be doing is empowering him, telling him that he can get away with what he's done and get away with doing it again if he wants. By keeping the event, we can show him we're not afraid of him, that we won't be intimidated."

"And just how many of the other graduates of '51 did you poll to make that conclusion?" Daphne asked angrily.

"What Daphne means to say," Barry interjected, "is that we're just wondering if maybe this couldn't be handled with a little more sensitivity and tact, Alex. Five people have lost their lives in the last four weeks or so, and not even by natural causes or accidents—they were, well, murdered in their own houses. Their relatives are already grieving—do we want them to think we only care about getting dressed up for the sake of a high school reunion and saving face?"

"Look," said Alex, rubbing her brow with her fingertips in a bit of annoyance, "I'm not saying I don't sympathize, okay? I'm a member of the class of '51, too, as are both of you. That five of our own are now…gone…it's a sad time for all of us. But moping and grieving isn't going to bring them back or make this person stop killing. And as for polling," and here she turned her piercing gaze on Daphne, "I've already made contact with the rest of the group who already RSVP'ed that they'd be coming—only three cancelled because of these recent events. Does that provide enough grounds to disappoint the rest who'll be coming back to Central City from all across the twin cities, the country and even overseas just for this event?"

"…I guess the majority vote counts here, huh?" Daphne sighed grudgingly, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms.

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll make an adjustment to the party's schedule of events to allow the families of the deceased to have a moment where their loved ones' memories are specially remembered," Alex suggested. "Walters, Ottey, Xavier, Hanna and Young all made significant contributions to the history of the school during their years here, nobody can deny that. The least we can do is to give them some sort of school tribute outside of what they'll be bound to get at their funerals."

Barry looked over at Daphne. "It does sound pretty reasonable, under the circumstances."

"Fine, then." Daphne stood up. "Well, since you're going to press forward with this, I guess there's nothing I can do to stop you. Let's go, Barry."

"Uh, you go ahead; I'll catch you outside in a bit," Barry told her.

Shrugging, Daphne stalked out of the office. Watching her departure for a moment till she was out the door, Barry turned back to Alex. "This is a little traumatizing for her…for all of us, really," he said. "I can understand why she'd be upset that the party's still going to be kept, but since the majority of the graduating class is still going to attend…"

"It is what it is, Barry," said Alex.

"I suppose so. Oh, speaking of which, how's your brother Peter? He was in our year-group, too, wasn't he?" Barry recalled.

"He's doing pretty well for himself, actually; he's part of a travelling circus these days," said Alex. "He works as their resident contortionist."

"Heh, yeah. I forgot he could do that—bend himself into all sorts of weird shapes. It was like the guy was made of rubber," and Barry chuckled at the memory. "I always thought he was pretty cool to be able to do that."

"Yeah? Well, some people didn't seem to think so back then…" Alex's face darkened. "Quite a few people in school used to class him as a freak…including your brother, as I recall."

"Yeah…but then again, Jay was always a jerk to just about anybody," Barry shrugged. "I guess I'm used to it since I actually had to live with him."

"I don't envy you, Barry," said Alex. "Next time you talk to him, ask him if he's gotten the stick out yet."

It took everything Barry had not to laugh at Alex's implied insult.

OOOOO

Jay did think about what Gail had said.

Her suggestions and advice rang in his head as he spent the day patrolling as the Flash, super-speeding through the boroughs and along the streets of Central City. _Come to think of it, she and Barry basically said the same thing…Morton Young hardly had anything in common with the other four past graduates who got killed, and yet he's dead in the same way as them, too. But why? What's the connecting link?_

He zipped past a number of pedestrians, who paused in their activities to call greetings and wave to him, but he only barely registered their hellos. _Gail said maybe the killer is someone who was jealous of those guys…if so, maybe he's jealous of me, too…but then again, who wouldn't be? Basketball star, track star, son of the city's top cop, major high school chick magnet…I was the top jock of my time, and everybody saw me as the guy to aspire toward. Hmm…but this killer wants to save me for last…if maybe this guy's jealous of me, why not just come for me first and leave the others alone?_

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he heard a woman shriek out. Glancing in the direction of the cry, he saw three heavy-set figures crowding around a terrified female in an alley.

_Nice. A perfect distraction._

OOOOO

"C'mon, honey, we just want to make your acquaintance," one of the three tough-looking youths said to the teenaged girl, leering at her as he spoke.

"P-please! Here's my purse, take what you want! Just don't hurt me!" the girl quavered, offering her purse to the trio with trembling hands.

One of the other thugs shook his head and grinned. "C'mon, babe, we don't wanna hurt ya, just lookin' for a little…_playtime,_ is all," he said with deep meaning.

"Yeah, what he said," the third punk smiled widely. "Now just be nice, and we won't hurt you. Simple as that."

"No!" The girl made a frantic break for it—but one of the trio cut her off. Then she tried to run the opposite way, but the second thug grabbed her and pushed her back against the wall, pinning her there by her hands. "No, please…" she started to sob.

"Aww, don't be such a cry-baby…we'll play nice," the third punk said with his smile growing wider.

Suddenly a loud _whoosh_ and a heavy burst of wind behind them caught their attention. "How about you guys let her go and play with ME, instead?" a voice asked.

The three thugs and their captive looked up at the voice. "Aw, geez—it's the Flash!" one thug exclaimed.

Flash held up one finger. "One chance. Let the girl go, and you three get to save yourselves plenty of creds in doctor bills."

The tallest of the trio reached into his belt and pulled out a gun. "What're you idiots waiting for? Slag him!" he shouted, raising the gun in Flash's direction—but the intended target was suddenly a blur of red, rushing forward, grabbing the thug's wrist with one hand and under his arm with the other and spinning him once before flinging him into a nearby dumpster, all in the space of two seconds. Before the other two could react, Flash sent a super-fast punch to one's jaw and then spun and kicked the other in the back of the leg. As the last punk grimaced and dropped to one knee, Flash followed it up with a solid punch to the back of the head and sent him flying face-first to the ground.

The punk who got punched in the face, having fallen on his backside, shook his head to clear the stars out of it, then jumped up and flung a punch at Flash's head from behind. The hit connected, causing Flash to stumble a little—but it did not stop the immediate response, as the speedster shot right back and grabbed the thug's shirt with one hand, holding him firmly in place to send a dozen punches into the guy's face with his free fist in less than three seconds. The guy grimaced at the impact of the many blows in such a short space of time, but before the pain could even register, Flash tightly gripped his shirt and his belt and hoisted him high, flinging him in the direction of the dumpster. The first thug, trying to climb out of the garbage at that moment, got a horrified expression on his face a split second before his pal crashed into him, causing both of them to end up amidst the trash.

The one remaining thug who'd gotten knocked to the ground tried to lift himself up by his hands, but a yellow boot slammed down on top of his head, pinning him back down. "Learn this lesson, dreg," Flash said coolly. "When a girl says 'no,' she means _no._ Not _maybe,_ not _probably,_ just plain and simple _no._ And if you can't appreciate that now, you'll appreciate it better when you're in prison. Got it?"

"Okay, okay, I get it! Just get off me!" the punk whined, his face pressing into the gravel as Flash's boot pressed down on his head.

Staring at this whole turn of events in wonder, the girl's attention was suddenly grabbed by a flash of metal. "Look out!" she screamed.

Flash heard an ominous _click_ coming from the dumpster—and the world seemed to be in slow motion from his vantage point as he reached down, grabbed the fallen thug, spun him around once, and flung him toward said dumpster. From the point of view of the others, what he'd done took approximately one second, as the gun-toting punk and his other friend, in trying to climb out of the trash while the gunman raised his weapon to shoot the speedster, ended up having their eyes widen in shock as their comrade wound up flying headfirst into them and causing all of them to end up scattered in the dumpster again. Then, to add insult to injury, Flash rushed up and slammed the dumpster lid down on their heads, scooting around the alley and grabbing several stray pieces of metal; these he used as impromptu nails as he hammered them into the dumpster lid at super-speed, sealing it shut despite the punks' loud protests inside.

"Hey, let us out of here!" the thugs complained.

"Why? Trash belongs in the dumpster," Flash deadpanned. Then he turned to the girl. "You all right?"

"Whoa…I mean…wow…just, wow," the girl replied, mesmerized.

"Call the police," Flash instructed her. "And tell them one of those guys has a gun—although at this point, he probably won't be able to use it without shooting his buddies too." And then he was gone in a red blur, leaving the girl blinking in his wake.

OOOOO

Central City's skyline began to turn faintly yellow with the oncoming sunset. Alexandra Merkel noted this with some satisfaction as she turned her key into the lock to enter her flat; she'd always enjoyed a good sunset, as to her it was an artistic expression of nature.

Not even the latest incidents with the murders of her fellow alumni would deter from her usual optimistic attitude toward life in general. As she'd told Barry and Daphne, while she could sympathize with their own apprehension in light of the deaths, as well as how the loved ones of the victims must be feeling, in the end life continued on without waiting to facilitate any one person's grieving.

Since her graduation from Central City High four years prior, she'd been working with the institution in dual capacities as their librarian and main public relations officer; that latter role, she mused wryly, had been taxed since these killings first began. She counted herself lucky that the majority of her graduating class had still agreed to attend the party in spite of the murders, and that the relatives of the deceased—despite tears, general incredulousness, and angry words in one case—had agreed to come and pay their respects informally at the gathering before having to do so at the time their loved ones' bodies would be committed to the earth. It was the least she could afford them as the event's organizer, after all, she felt.

_Still…_ Her thoughts turned slightly dark as she stepped inside her place, settled her purse and keys down on the counter and went to her refrigerator, opting for an apple from there and promptly biting into it. _I can't exactly say I'll miss those guys. Yes, it's too bad they're dead, but they weren't the nicest people I ever knew. Even Morton Young…I thought he was better than the rest of them, but I guess when you put some people into a given situation, they'll show you their true colors…_

Heading for the living room, she flopped down on the couch and picked up the remote to watch TV. "Boring…boring…boring…boring…" she grumbled as she flicked through the different channels.

"_Alexandra…"_

The chilling voice, so close to her person, caused her to spit out the piece of apple she'd just bitten into and drop both the fruit and the remote. Jumping up and spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with a red-haired, ivory-faced individual in a garish costume, who was even now reaching out a hand toward her.

"_Aaaaaaahhh!"_

OOOOO

Running past the apartment building at that moment as he continued his patrol, Flash was just in time to see a young woman flying out of an apartment door and rush out onto the balcony of the building's second floor. Immediately he braked to a stop, spun around, and dashed toward the building, dashing up the stairs to get to the apartment. _Another distraction from my own issues; how fun,_ he mentally remarked.

As he reached the second-floor landing, he heard a scream; rounding the corner, he was just in time to see the terrified young woman about to collide into him. Kicking his reflexes into gear, he spun right around her to avoid the collision, and in doing so noted that the woman in question was someone he recognized, Alex Merkel…and also that there was another person who'd stopped just short at the entrance to Alex's apartment, someone who clearly didn't belong there and who'd apparently been chasing her.

"RUN!" Flash yelled to Alex, even as he dashed forward and tackled the other person so fast that both of them flew from the doorway and inside the apartment, skidding across the floor to the living room. To his surprise, though, his target managed to twist into a ball, pressing the flats of both feet against Flash's stomach, then extending both legs up and backward so as to cause the speedster to be thrown over and into a nearby wall.

Quickly picking himself up, Flash appraised his quarry—sporting red hair and an ivory-colored mask, clad in a shirt with a yellow, white and black checker-style design, a pair of loose black pants with black-and-white checker-style designs on the shins, and a red sash around the waist. This person now flipped upright and spun around, regarding Flash with an upraised eyebrow that was visible even through the mask. "Oh, the Flash?" the person spoke, in a raspy but otherwise decidedly male voice, as the mouth of the mask moved in sync with the words. "I wasn't expecting to meet you, certainly not like this. But I suppose now's as good a time as any, right?"

"And what do I call you? 'Puppet-Man'? 'The Clown'? 'Mop-Head'?" Flash cracked.

"Heh, heh. You're a funny guy. I like that." The mystery figure grinned. "But, ah, hmm, in all seriousness, I hadn't actually thought about a name for myself just yet…" He seemed to think for a moment. "Oh, well, _Rag Doll_ will do."

"What are you doing here? Somehow I don't think the owner of this place invited you here for coffee," said Flash.

"Well, I was hoping to have a little one-on-one discussion with her…before she fled from me and you showed up," Rag Doll replied. "Listen, speedy-boy, I've got no personal grouse with you. So, unless you want me to introduce you to my little friend here," and here he reached into his sash-belt and pulled out a wicked-looking hunting knife, "I'd suggest you zoom on out of here and pretend you never saw me."

Flash eyed the knife with a slowly-narrowing gaze. "I'm going to hazard a guess that you're the serial killer who's been terrorizing Central City High's graduating class of 2051. Yes?"

Rag Doll's eyes lit up. "Oh, those five twips?" he remarked, grinning through his mask. "Let's just say they got what nobody else was willing to give them. Trust me, I've done this city a favor."

"Then how about I do this city another favor—by pulverizing you?" Flash promptly shot forward and slapped the knife out of Rag Doll's hand, causing it to skittle across the floor. Before Rag Doll could react, Flash followed it up with a solid punch to the jaw, a left hook to the stomach, and a right uppercut to the chin, knocking the other masked man to the floor. "And that's all she wrote!"

Rag Doll was now sprawled out on the ground—but to Flash's surprise, he laughed. "Is it?" he asked. "I say no."

Flipping to his feet again, Rag Doll lunged toward Flash, who easily sidestepped the assault—but he wasn't prepared to see Rag Doll catch himself on his hands as he hit the floor, then spin on his palms with both legs extended to kick the Scarlet Speedster right in the chest. As Flash staggered from the kick, his opponent followed it up by flipping onto his feet, then jumping and spinning wildly before lashing out with first one foot, then the next, kicking the crimson-clad hero twice more in the chest. With astonishing agility, Rag Doll sprung onto his feet, flashing three small blades from his sash-belt and in between his fingers as he did so, and swung them at Flash—who grabbed Rag Doll's wrist before the knives could connect, spun his arm around and twisted the killer's wrist.

"I'll break your arm if you move again!" Flash threatened.

But then—much to Flash's shock—Rag Doll's arm bent entirely the wrong way at the elbow, even as he twisted his wrist and freed himself from Flash's grip. Eyes widening at what he'd just seen, Flash didn't know how to react as the same arm bent back the correct way and allowed Rag Doll to slash him across the chest. Grimacing as he felt the knives connect, Flash was helpless as his costume got torn, revealing an expanding network of yellow-colored circuitry underneath the exterior material.

Rag Doll seemed just as surprised as Flash at what had just happened. "Oh? Your suit's got circuitry in it?" he asked. "Interesting."

"My _suit?_ What about your _arm?"_ Flash demanded incredulously.

"My arm?" said Rag Doll, looking at his arm. "Oh, you mean this?" and here he bent his arm the wrong way with evidently no discomfort. "Ever hear of people being double-jointed? Well, I'm a rare case—I'm _triple-_jointed. So, my arm, my wrists, my fingers, my legs…" He demonstrated with each named joint, bending them at various weird angles. "Every part of me can bend in various ways. So I can fit in basically any tight space with no problems."

"…that's just creepy," Flash said in disgust—then a realization hit him. "And that's how you were able to get into your victims' houses."

"And inside this house too," Rag Doll confirmed. "People these days never stop to think how easily accessible a ventilation shaft, or a sewage pipe, or even a half-closed window with multiple shutters, can be if the crook who's trying to come in is sufficiently flexible. And by the way, my being so flexible also means I can take hits and bounce right back. So, therefore, your attacks on me won't do a thing other than maybe sting a little, but that's about it."

"I wonder about that…maybe if I hit you enough times, I'll be bound to find a bone that'll actually break," Flash said ominously.

"Try all you like. Meanwhile, I hope you don't mind if I dance a while?" Rag Doll ran two steps forward, jumped into a forward-flip, and swung one leg down to kick Flash in the head. Flash saw the kick coming and shifted to one side to avoid it—but as Rag Doll's leg came down, he suddenly flung his other leg forward and to the side, catching Flash on his waist. As Flash winced from the impact, Rag Doll shifted his body's angle so that both feet were back on the floor and then thrust his head up into the speedster's stomach, knocking him back a step. Nonetheless, Flash lunged forward and grabbed Rag Doll around the neck, then spun on the spot, flailing the contortionist around multiple times before sending him sailing into the nearby TV. The appliance was knocked off its wall-stand and crashed to the floor, together with Rag Doll.

"Ooohhh…" Rag Doll slowly stood up, dazed from being spun around so much. "That wasn't fun…"

Not wasting time with words, Flash sped forward and flung a straight punch to Rag Doll's face—but Rag Doll bent himself backward at the waist, causing the punch to miss altogether. In the same movement, Rag Doll pressed his hands to the floor, then brought up both legs at a rising angle to kick Flash under the chin, sending his head careening backward and his whole body to fly back slightly and crash to the ground. His head spinning, Flash barely registered that Rag Doll was now flipping to one side to retrieve the hunting knife that had fallen from him earlier.

A wide grin formed on Rag Doll's mask again as he picked up the knife. "I've had fun, Flash, really, I have," he chuckled. "You're certainly more fun than my five victims were—well, at least the last one was prepared to fight. It's just too bad I got the drop on him."

Wiping stray saliva from his mouth as he pulled himself to his feet again, Flash glared at the killer. "Well, five is where your body count is going to stay, creep. I'll stop you no matter what."

"Really? And how can you hope to stop me when you can only barely predict how my body's going to move?" Rag Doll taunted him, a deep, raspy laugh escaping his throat. "You might be able to move and react incredibly fast, Flash, but if you can't overcome my triple-jointed-ness, you might as well just give up and go home."

"And leave you to kill again? Not likely," Flash spat.

"Well, since you feel so strongly about it, why not capture me? Assuming you can…" Rag Doll grinned even more.

His teeth bared in a snarl, Flash sped forward again, but Rag Doll countered by dropping face-first to the floor and then pushing his hands down, resulting in him sliding along the ground in between Flash's legs—and suddenly the contortionist swung both legs up, kicking Flash in a certain sensitive spot. "Ouf…!" Flash bent over at the knees in automatic response, causing him to stumble head-over-heels onto the ground. Rag Doll quickly flipped back up and jumped onto the speedster's back, reaching around to grab his opponent's throat in a vice-like grip with both hands. "Urk…!" Flash gasped as his breath was cut off.

Maintaining his grip on Flash's neck with one hand, Rag Doll reached into his belt with his other hand and produced three more short blades, holding them between his fingers. "Time to up the body count to six!" he gloated, holding the blades high to stab Flash in the neck.

Hearing the sound of the blades clinking together, in desperation Flash lunged backward and positioned to fall on his back. Caught off-guard by the sudden shift in movement, Rag Doll got the wind knocked out of him as Flash's entire body weight came down on his chest with both of them hitting the floor. Both their bodies jerked from the impact, and Rag Doll's hand and leg grip on Flash relaxed; Flash promptly rolled to one side, spun around, grabbed Rag Doll by the front of his shirt, hoisted the villain above his head, and flung him to the other side of the small space where they were fighting. Rag Doll hit the wall with tremendous impact, but quickly rolled to his feet on falling to the floor and flung several blades from his belt at Flash; however, the speedster swiftly dodged the blades_._

Flash ran at Rag Doll and jumped at the villain with one boot lashing forward at his head. Rag Doll, however, ducked the flying kick and countered by shoving Flash out of the air; as Flash tried to correct himself on landing, Rag Doll performed his own jumping kick, his foot catching Flash in the side of the neck and knocking him down.

His hand gripping his hunting knife, Rag Doll dived at Flash, the blade flashing high as the killer prepared to stab him. Flash rolled his head out of the way just as the cold steel dug deeply into the floor, just missing him by an inch; undaunted, Rag Doll stabbed again and again, with Flash managing to shift his head out of the way at super-speed each time. Finally, Rag Doll held the blade at a horizontal angle and, holding the knife-handle tightly in one hand and holding his other palm against the hand holding the weapon, brought it down toward Flash's neck; but Flash responded by bringing up both arms, his gloves' wrist-bracers catching the blade with a metallic scraping noise. Clearly frustrated, Rag Doll pressed his attack further, then suddenly bent the joint of one arm the wrong way in order to force the knife down further. This had the added effect of bringing Rag Doll's upper body further down on top of Flash, until their faces were only inches apart, even while both of them growled in their throats as they struggled, the knife-blade rubbing insistently on Flash's bracers, those being the only things between Flash's neck and the sharp steel edge.

Then Flash drew as much spittle in his mouth as he could and spat it upward, into Rag Doll's eye. "Gyaa!" Rag Doll cried out, instinctively launching himself upright and putting a hand to his eye—and taking full advantage of this chance, Flash launched multiple blurry punches to the killer's torso, ending with a rising punch to Rag Doll's chin that sent him flying. Rag Doll landed on the floor on his back, but quickly rolled to his feet and leaped over the nearby sofa. Leaping to his feet, Flash zipped around to the other side of the sofa…and saw nothing.

"As if!" Flash exploded, flipping the sofa over to reveal Rag Doll having hidden himself on its underside. Nonetheless, Rag Doll back-flipped out of harm's way even as the sofa was violently upended; he ended up on the dining room table not far away, and then turned and dived off the table in the direction of the still-open apartment door. Vaulting over the balcony rail with one hand, he dropped down to the ground below.

"Hey! Come back here!" Flash yelled, speeding out the door, along the corridor, down the stairs, and back on the ground floor where Rag Doll had gone—and saw nobody. "Huh? Where'd he…? Aw, come on!" he groaned.

"Flash!"

Turning, Flash beheld Alex running up to him. "Did you see where that guy turned to?" he asked her.

"No, I was hiding," she answered.

"You're not hurt?" Flash pursued.

"No…I'm fine," Alex answered, but the fear was still on her face. "Flash, he…he knew who I was…he called me by my name…he was waiting inside for me…!"

Just then, the distant sound of sirens caught their ears and drew closer. "The cops…already?" Flash wondered.

"I called the police after you ran into my apartment," Alex explained.

"Fair enough," nodded Flash. "The important thing is, you're okay, and that guy is probably long gone by now. Come on, let's go meet the cops."

Neither of them was aware that, not too far away from them, Rag Doll hadn't vanished at all, but was in fact hiding in a crevice in the ceiling of the apartment's ground floor corridor. Watching for a moment as the two made their way to the building's parking lot to await the arrival of the approaching squad cars, after a moment he crept with spider-like speed and agility out of his hiding place while still clinging to the ceiling as best he could to keep hidden. Keeping a close watch to ensure the two weren't looking around for him and that nobody was coming out of the nearby apartments just then, he dropped down to the ground as silently as he could, hopped over the guard rail and crawled into a nearby storm drain, where he soon vanished from sight.

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 7**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—after having a little chat with Alex Merkel, the Flash decides to investigate a possible suspect for the true identity of the Rag Doll—Alex's own brother, Peter! Meanwhile, the detectives in the Rag Doll murders approach Commissioner West about the possible danger his sons may be in as members of Central City High's class of 2051, prompting the Commissioner to take matters into his own hands! Next chapter—_Suspicion and Resentment!_


	8. Suspicion and Resentment

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 8: Suspicion and Resentment**

Several police cars were now in the parking lot of Alexandra Merkel's apartment building, even as Alex herself spoke to the police about her meeting the mysterious masked killer in her flat. Close by, the Flash crossed his arms and waited patiently as the police spoke with her and jotted down her answers. Then a new police car drove up, and out of this one came Detectives Thaddeus Hunter and Frank Curtis.

"Looks like we got a break this time, Hunter—one of our sociopath's would-be victims still lives," Curtis said good-naturedly.

"And look, the famous red-masked vigilante is here too," Hunter added, not so pleased.

Flash waved to the two detectives as they came over. "Fancy meeting you again so soon, fellows," he addressed them.

"Mind telling us what you're doing here, Flash?" Hunter asked pointedly.

"Well, I was saving this lady's life," said Flash, indicating Alex, "and also fighting the crazy stalker who was hiding in her apartment." And here he fingered the knife-tears on the chest of his suit from the earlier fight with Rag Doll.

"And did you capture him?" Hunter queried, looking around. "Oh, no, looks like you didn't. But hey, what else to expect from a guy whose only real skill is to run real fast?"

"Say, that's the young lady who called the police, isn't it?" asked Curtis, pointing to Alex. "Hunter, why don't you talk with the young miss while I have a chat with our scarlet friend?"

Making a face, Hunter went over to Alex, even as Curtis now turned to Flash. "Never mind my junior, son; you did good today," the older detective said warmly.

"Thanks," Flash nodded. "Do you think he'll come around to the idea of me being here in Central City?"

"Eh, he'll probably lighten up once the twin cities decide to officially deputize you," said Curtis. "Just keep doing what you're doing, within the bounds of the law, until then. With this craziness that's happening plus our other cases we have to be working, we could use the help of a superhero."

In the meantime, Hunter was introducing himself to Alex. "Miss, I'm Detective Hunter," he said. "You called it in, right?"

"Yes, sir," Alex replied. "I'm Alex Merkel."

"What exactly happened?" Hunter inquired, readying his notebook.

Briefly Alex recounted the series of events. "I came home, I sat down to watch TV, then this creep appeared out of nowhere and…and he called my name," she said, shivering. "And he reached out his hand to grab me…but I managed to get out of the apartment. That's when the Flash rushed up and ran inside there, and then I went to hide. I called the police on my cell-phone…and then here we are."

"Mmm-hmm," Hunter grunted. "Hey, Curtis, bring the speedster over here a second, would you?"

"What's up?" Curtis asked as he and Flash walked over.

"Tell me something, Ms. Merkel," said Hunter. "It's just a little too convenient that the Flash just happened to be in the area at the time you were attacked, wouldn't you say?"

"What are you saying?" Alex asked suspiciously.

"I'm saying, how do we know that Flash and this other person weren't in cahoots together?" the detective asked. "For all we know, Flash could be behind all these killings and he's just trying to make himself look good by playing the 'hero' role."

Flash cocked an eyebrow at this. "Would this theory be coming from Detective Hunter, or 'prejudiced against Flash' Hunter?" he asked.

"Care to repeat that?" Hunter said warningly.

"Now, now, children, settle down and you won't get sent into time-out," Curtis announced, stepping in between the two. "Let's stay focused. Miss, before today, did you get any kind of threats, or any indication you were being stalked?"

"No, sir," Alex shook her head.

"All right," said Curtis. "Now, this person who was in your apartment, what did he look like?"

Alex described the intruder's costume. "It was really freaky," she commented.

Curtis nodded and jotted down the information. "Did you notice anything else about him? Like, anything unusual, weird, whatever?"

"He spoke with a kind of raspy-sounding voice, like he was being strangled," said Alex.

"Detectives!"

The group looked up as one of the crime-scene investigators approached them. "We just found this," and he held up a transparent bag containing a small blade. "It was inside the apartment on the floor."

"That's one of the knives Rag Doll tried to stab me with," Flash commented, peering at the weapon.

"Rag Doll?" Curtis queried.

"Yeah, that's what he called himself," the speedster explained. "And he had a really creepy body, too—like he was able to bend himself in all sorts of weird ways."

Alex paled.

"Hmph. Well, how soon can we get an analysis on this knife?" Hunter asked the CSI.

"We'll rush it over to the lab as soon as we finish inside…it's a wreck in there," the investigator replied.

"Okay then, you do that." Hunter turned and handed a card to Alex. "Ms. Merkel, if anything else comes to mind, give us a call. And _you,"_ turning a glare on Flash, "stay out of the way." And he stalked off.

Curtis shrugged and gave Flash a sympathetic look. "I'll talk to him. I can't guarantee any magical changes next time he sees you, though." Then he turned and hurried to join his junior partner.

Shaking his head, Flash turned to Alex—and only then noticed her condition. "You okay?"

Alex swallowed with some difficulty and turned to look at him. "Just now…you said that that Rag Doll character…he could bend himself in weird ways? Did you see that when you and he were fighting?"

"Yeah, and he demonstrated it quite freely," answered Flash. "Why?"

Alex looked down at the ground with an expression of inner struggle. Then she looked up at him again. "There are two people I know who can move their bodies like that. My brother, Peter…he's a contortionist for a travelling circus. And my father, Peter Merkel Senior, he used to work with the circus as a contortionist too."

Flash gave her a searching look. "Are you thinking that…"

"That one of them is responsible?" Alex finished for him. "Honestly, right now I don't know _what_ to think. I mean, five members of my graduating class are dead, and I just managed to avoid becoming the sixth victim only because you were here."

"Yeah. And you'll be safe now, since the cops are here," Flash told her.

"What about you?" Alex asked. Then, just as immediately, her expression changed. "You want to go look for them, don't you? My father and brother, I mean."

Flash sighed. "Look. I know it must be difficult to think your relatives might be involved somehow…"

But Alex shook her head, surprising him. "Actually, I wouldn't be surprised where my brother is concerned," she said quietly. "Peter…back in school, he was always a kind of outcast because of how he could bend his limbs. When some of the other students found out, they called him all kinds of names…freak, puppet-boy, all of that…they made his life a nightmare. I was the only real friend he ever had throughout high school…he hated everyone and everything. It wasn't until he joined the circus that he started being happy for the first time in years."

"You and he must have been pretty close," Flash commented. "Do you still speak?"

"On and off," Alex admitted. "Last time we talked, he said he and his troupe would've been doing a series of shows in Smallville over the past month, but he'll be here this weekend in time for the alumni get-together we've been organizing at Central City High for this coming Sunday."

"And your father?" asked Flash.

Alex shook her head again. "He left the circus years ago…he found religion a few years before I was born, and he's been running an independent ministry down in Keystone City's business district over the last two decades since then. But…Peter and I don't really speak to him much. In fact, I'm lucky if I can get the two Peters into the same room, much less to get them to say one word to each other. Peter hates Dad, has since high school."

Flash considered a moment. "Listen, I realize it's a bit much to ask, but do you have contact numbers for them? Can you call them?"

"Uh, I do have one for Peter…Dad's phone is on the fritz since recently," Alex said apologetically. "I can try to call Peter…" She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and held the device to her ear—and just as quickly shut it off. "Went right to voicemail…that's not surprising, he usually turns it off when he's going to perform."

"Okay. So I'll have to find Peter in person then. And you said your father operates in Keystone's business district?" said Flash.

"Yes, his church is easy to find—Merkel Ministries. Everybody in Keystone knows him," Alex confirmed.

Flash nodded. "Uh, listen…I'm sorry. About your family, I mean."

"Thank you," Alex replied…and then her hair blew to one side as the speedster darted away, leaving a light breeze in his wake.

OOOOO

Detective Hunter settled back in the car, perusing the list of Central City High graduates from 2051 he and Curtis had previously acquired, even as his older partner now joined him in the car. "Spare me the lecture," he intoned without looking up.

"Lecture on what?" Curtis asked innocently.

"You know what I'm talking about. You think my theory about the Flash back there was a load of bull." Hunter still didn't look up.

"Was it?" Curtis queried with a little smirk.

"I still stand by what I've said before—the Flash isn't a cop, so he shouldn't be doing a cop's job. And as for this, it just looks too suspicious," said Hunter, still sifting through the list.

"Well, we're all entitled to our opinions," Curtis shrugged. "Anyway, moving right along…I see you're looking at the class of '51 list again."

Hunter nodded. "Mmm-hmm. Based on the student info here, Alex Merkel doesn't fit the killer's pattern…she wasn't part of Central City High's popular society, and she just said she never got any threatening messages prior to today."

"Maybe the perp decided to twist his M.O. a little to throw us off," suggested Curtis.

"Maybe. But you know what else?" Hunter flipped the list over to another page and pointed to one section. "Guess who else on this list _would_ potentially fit the criteria…?"

Curtis looked. "Ho, boy," he said after a moment of looking.

They were looking at a picture of Jay West.

"Basketball star, track star, police commissioner's kid…" Hunter read the information. "The killer is _not_ going to pass this guy up."

"Nor Jay's brother, if the guy's changing his strategy," and Curtis pointed to the picture and information just below Jay's, where Barry West was just as prominently shown. "We have to tell Commissioner West."

OOOOO

There was more to the apology than Flash would have ever told Alex.

He was now on a hill just overlooking the outskirts of Central City, still in costume but with his mask off; both his thoughts and his expression were grim.

Slowly the memories came back to him. His high school years…the faces of the serial killer's five victims as he remembered them back then…the beleaguered face of their common target of ridicule and scorn.

"_Can you bend like a triangle, Merkel?"_

Memories flashed in his mind repeatedly—himself, Ira Ottey and Evan Walters hounding an unresisting Peter Merkel Junior throughout the halls of their high school, stopping only when one of the passing teachers gave them a disapproving stare.

"_Sorry, rubber-boy, but I don't think the lady wants to go out with a skinny freak like you."_

A freshly-revived memory of Merkel looking despondent while Sheila Hanna coolly turned her back on him and locked arms with Jay entered his thoughts.

"_Get away from me, creep!"_

He slowly sat down on the grassy surface while, in his mind's eye, the memory arose of Julia Xavier snapping at Merkel even as her clique looked on with contemptuous expressions; close by, in said memory, Jay was watching, pointing and laughing along with Ottey and Walters.

"_Merkel, I've told you we're not interested! We don't need an extra stage-hand!"_

"_Come on, Morton, at least tell me why you won't even consider me for your drama club. I can do whatever you need me to do!"_

"_Okay. You wanna know why? Because nobody in the club is willing to work with you, Merkel. Your behavior's too creepy for anyone's liking. Everybody already thinks you're weird—you're not helping your own case by stalking me or any of the other club members! Now back off!"_

That, he recounted, was an incident where Morton Young had had to publicly reprimand Merkel for making himself an unwanted presence in the vicinity of the drama club's appointed room. Close by, he remembered, he himself had snickered at the exchange.

_"Well, now, if even the geeks won't give you the time of day, that should tell you something, huh, Merkel?"_ he recalled saying in commentary on that incident.

All five of them—Evan Walters, Ira Ottey, Julia Xavier, Sheila Hanna and Morton Young—had had similar points of contact with Peter Merkel. And now all five of them were dead under the same circumstances. And Jay's name was now on a threatening message in his inbox.

He rested his arms on top of his bent knees and then rested his chin on his arms, his eyes becoming grimmer as he remembered it all.

_Peter Merkel…did we make you into a monster?_

He frowned deeply as he considered the matter…then he stood up, determined, and pulled on his mask. A second later he was gone in a streak of red.

OOOOO

Roughly three minutes later, running along the highway, Flash caught sight of the huge billboard looming large before his vision, with a picture of a familiar figure in blue with a red cape and a prominent "S" on his chest, and below that the inscription: _**Smallville, home of the Man of Steel.**_ Dashing past it, he zipped through the town, looking around as he passed along for indications of the circus Alex had mentioned. Running some more, eventually he caught sight of a large tent in a clearing; nodding, he slowed his speed somewhat as he approached the front entrance.

"Hey, excuse me," he hailed the security guard at the front of the clearing's designated entrance. "Where do I find the manager?"

The guard cocked an eyebrow at him. "And you are?"

"Tell him the Flash is visiting from Central City," Flash answered.

Nodding, the guard whipped out a cellular phone, speed-dialed a number, and held the device to his ear. "Yeah, Mr. Julian? Bernard at the front gate. There's a guy here who says he's the Flash, from Central City…yeah, wearing a suit and all…oh, okay, then." He hung up the phone. "The manager's busy preparing the activity schedule for our show tomorrow. Buy a ticket and come back, like everybody else."

Flash crossed his arms. "I didn't run all the way from Central City to be stonewalled. Let me see the manager now. Please."

"And again I say, come back tomorrow." The guard didn't flinch.

Flash scowled. "I see." Then, the next thing the guard knew, a red blur shot around him, and then his belt was loosened and his trousers were down to his ankles. "Still gonna stonewall me?"

"Hey!" the guard yelled in surprise, hurrying to pull his pants up even as some passing patrons gawked at the unusual sight. "You really _are_ the Flash, aren't you?"

"Nice deduction, Sherlock. Do I pull down your pink boxers next, or do you step aside?" Flash asked crossly.

Hurriedly fixing his pants, the guard stepped out of Flash's way. "Mr. Julian's in the green tent at the back," he directed the speedster, shivering a little at the idea that anyone had just seen his underwear in such a humiliating manner.

Nodding, Flash darted from the entrance and toward the green tent. On entering the tent, he found a short, bald, well-dressed man at a desk drafting up some papers. "You the manager, Mr. Julian?" he inquired.

Mr. Julian glanced up. "Didn't Bernard send you away? I've got no time for practical jokers dressing up like superheroes, I've got a circus to manage," he grunted, waving the visitor off.

Flash was standing at the tent's entrance—but a split-second later he was stooping right on top of the desk in front of Mr. Julian. "Who's joking?" he asked.

Mr. Julian's eyes widened at what he'd just seen. "Whoa. Okay, you're the real deal. Uh…" His tone became very polite. "How can I help you, Mr. Flash?"

"I'm told you have a Peter Merkel working here as a contortionist. I'd like to see him," said Flash.

But Mr. Julian shook his head. "Sorry, son, but Merkel's not here. I gave the entire troupe the day off for today, since we're going to have a show tomorrow," and he indicated the papers he'd been drafting. "We've got a packed schedule tomorrow. I figured everybody could use a break and unwind a little, you know. We've been working hard these last few weeks."

"So where did Merkel go?" Flash wanted to know.

"He said he was just going to take a drive-out, and then he jumped into his car and split. I've no clue where he went. He does that every time he gets a break…I try not to overwork the performers, so they all get a day or two off each week to recharge their batteries." Mr. Julian frowned. "He's not in any sort of trouble, is he?"

"What makes you say that?" asked Flash, now hopping down from the table and standing tall in front of the circus manager.

Mr. Julian sighed. "His sister in Central City has been calling him on and off for some time recently. The way he told us, some people he went to school with have been murdered over the last few weeks. That kind of thing can hit a fellow hard, I can only imagine."

"Hmm. Say, why don't you call him on his phone?" suggested Flash.

Obliging, Mr. Julian pulled out a cell-phone and dialed a number…but as he put it to his ear, he frowned. "Weird," he remarked. "His phone's turned off. Normally we all do that anytime we're busy with performances, but he should be accessible now and, well, he isn't."

"So I'll really have to come back to see him in person. All right—I'll zip back here tomorrow and look for him then," said Flash.

"You could try in the afternoon, say around 4:00—we're scheduled to be done with the activities for the day by then," Mr. Julian suggested. "I'll tell Bernard to expect you."

"Oh, believe me, I don't think _he'll_ forget me," and now Flash smirked a little—and then was gone, a breeze blowing after him as Mr. Julian looked on.

OOOOO

"Yes?" Commissioner West answered his office phone.

"_Detective Frank Curtis here, Commissioner,"_ said the voice on the other end. _"I thought I'd call you personally with this update we have on the serial killings."_

"Yes…I've been waiting for some good news in this case," said the commissioner, relaxing a little.

"…_actually, sir, I've got good AND bad news,"_ Curtis sounded apologetic.

"Well, as I said, I've been waiting for good news in this case. So give me the good news first."

"_Yes, sir. The killer targeted another past student from Central City High, but his attempt was foiled this time around,"_ Curtis reported. _"We've posted a police guard around the premises of this student, to keep her safe in case the guy decides to come back."_

"In case the guy comes back? Then I suppose that's what the bad news is—that he escaped and is still at large," said Commissioner West, annoyed.

"_Uh…that's not all, sir," _and now Curtis seemed guarded. _"We ran through the list of graduates from 2051, the people the killer's been targeting specifically. Based on his M.O. and the character traits of the past victims, as well as the character of this latest thwarted attack, we have a good idea who his next target might be…sir, he could be coming for your son Jay."_

Commissioner West's face remained neutral…but his grip on the phone receiver tightened. "I see."

"_What do you want us to do, Commissioner? Should we have police escorts for your sons?"_

"No—no escorts. That'll be too obvious that something's up." Commissioner West considered the matter. "Just have a patrol car pass by their house for now and report in often—they live near to Central City University. I'll give you the address momentarily; call back in exactly 10 minutes."

"_Yes, sir. Understood."_ Then the line went dead.

Hanging up the phone, Commissioner West crossed his fingers together on his desk and exhaled deeply. The truth was, based on the descriptions of the five murdered persons in the news, he'd already had a good idea what sort of targets this killer might be considering. Young people who were part of the popular crowd during their tenure at Central City High, people who were involved in sports or were otherwise of high renown at the institution…and he himself had to acknowledge that Jay was quite likely one of the most popular students of that time, if not _the_ most popular.

But the commissioner had also received word of the content of the various e-mails that had been sent to the victims before their deaths; those messages had essentially labelled their recipients as sinners. And although he wasn't aware of Jay receiving any such e-mail, he knew well that Jay's behavior during those school years wasn't the most pleasant; in fact, Jay had been rather condescending of people who didn't excel in sports, and Maxwell had often seen and refereed a good deal of sibling rivalry between his sons, the brawny and athletic Jay versus the more bookish and science-minded Barry.

The top cop thought back to his own high school days, where he'd learned in his American History and Social Studies classes about distressing events like the Columbine High School shooting of 1999. He remembered how, although bullying was disputed and debated as a contributing factor to that specific tragedy, it was nonetheless touted as a major trigger for most similar incidents in high schools throughout the decades. That this serial killer could in fact have been a bullying victim at Central City High was therefore not far-fetched at all.

_And Jay might be the next in line…and probably Barry, too, if this psycho is nuts enough,_ thought the commissioner.

He picked up the phone again and dialed a number, then waited. A moment later, a voice came through on the other end. _"Hello?"_

"Barry, it's Dad," said Commissioner West. "Where are you now? Is Jay near you?"

"_I just got back home, and it doesn't look like Jay's here," _said Barry. _"What's going on, Dad?"_

"I just got an update on the case of that serial killer who's been targeting the people in your graduating class," Commissioner West told him. "The detective working the case thinks there's a good chance that that person might come after Jay…and right now, I'm prioritizing the safety of both of you." His voice lowered a little. "I don't want to have to bury either of my children."

"_Dad…you're not going to bury either of us. Jay's too stubborn to let somebody kill him like that, and I'm not being targeted,"_ said Barry. _"The killer sent threats through e-mail before killing his targets…I'm checking my e-mail right now, and I haven't gotten anything like that. Plus I wasn't really one of the cool kids back in school, so I'm safe."_

"Maybe YOU are, but what about Jay?" asked Commissioner West. "Has he gotten any threats?"

"_I don't know…he hasn't said anything about that, and I don't have his e-mail password to check for myself,"_ answered Barry.

"Well, I'm not taking any chances. I have a duty to fulfil as your father, and that's what I'm going to do." Commissioner West nodded. "In a little while from now I'm going to send out a police unit to keep watch at your house. And as soon as Jay comes back, let me know, understand?"

"_What about Mom? Does she know about this?"_ There was a note of concern in Barry's voice.

"Not yet…I'll tell her soon, though. She deserves to know," the commissioner acknowledged. "By the way, what about that alumni party that was planned for Sunday? Do you know if they've put it off or cancelled it?"

"_No, they haven't,"_ said Barry. _"The bulk of the graduating class is still coming in spite of the murders, so the organizer's going through with it."_

Commissioner West frowned, deep disapproval on his face. "They're still going through with it? Don't they have any sense of discretion for the victims' families?" he demanded.

"_Same thing Daphne said when she and I went to the school today,"_ Barry said sheepishly.

"Hmph…well, I suppose it can't be helped if the graduating class members are still coming," sighed Commissioner West. "But if the killer's not caught before then, I'm going to dispatch some of my best officers as security detail for this party. That serial killer is not going to get one foot in the front door of that gathering if I can help it."

"_I hear you, Dad,"_ said Barry, chuckling a little. _"Say hi to Mom for me when you talk to her. And I'll tell Jay to give you a call as soon as I get a hold of him."_

"Yes, do that. And you take care of yourself, son."

"_You, too. Bye."_ And then the line went dead.

Commissioner West hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply—and then, just like that, the phone rang. Immediately he snatched the receiver back up. "Hello?"

"_Detective Curtis calling back sir, about the address for your sons so our boys can patrol their place…"_

"Yes, of course."

OOOOO

The Flash was back in Central City, even as the sky darkened overhead, but that didn't deter him. _One other place to go before I call it a day,_ he thought to himself as he ran toward the huge bridge that separated Central City from its sister, Keystone City.

Zipping across the bridge in less than a minute, he dashed throughout the streets of Keystone even as its residents paused to take in his blurry red form running past them and their vehicles. Eyeing the street signs as he ran, he focused his sense of direction toward where he knew the business district was…and shortly thereafter his searching was rewarded as he came across a small church building, with the words _Merkel Ministries _in fairly large letters atop the front entrance.

Slowing down to normal pace, Flash approached the front door…

"Mommy, look! It's the Flash!"

"Eh?" Hearing the child's excited cry, Flash looked to one side and immediately saw several civilians who'd been walking together nearby, their attention now drawn to him. "Oh."

"Hi, Flash! Glad to see you!" one of the residents greeted the speedster. "You should come to our neck of the woods more often—Keystone likes you as much as Central City does, you know!"

"Uh, thanks," Flash replied. "Hey, anybody here know Mr. Merkel?"

"Know him? The man is a saint, God bless him," one elderly woman declared, and several others nearby nodded and voiced their agreement.

"I wouldn't exactly call myself a saint, my good woman, but I do what I can," another voice announced.

Turning in the direction of the new speaker, Flash beheld a man in a dark robe with a high collar, emerging from the church's front entrance. "Reverend Merkel, I presume?" he asked.

"You presume rightly, speedster," Reverend Merkel smiled at him. "So, the twin cities' new superhero comes to pay my church a visit? I'm honored."

"Thanks," said Flash. "Hey, listen, Rev, could we head inside and talk? It's important."

"Of course. I'm about ready to lock up now, but I suppose I can spare a few more minutes." Reverend Merkel waved to the passersby. "Sorry, folks, but our resident hero needs a word from this man of the cloth…"

"Give him your blessings, Reverend," one of the residents commented, and the others laughed at that.

Waving to the people again, Reverend Merkel turned and headed back inside the church, Flash following behind him until they soon arrived inside a small office. "So, Flash…how can I help you?" the preacher queried.

"First things first, sorry to show up unannounced like this…I'd have called ahead if I knew the number," said Flash.

"Never mind—you wouldn't have been able to get me anyway," said Reverend Merkel. "My cell-phone's out for repairs, and the office phone here has been somewhat buggy recently—the phone company's sending someone to look at it tomorrow."

Nodding, Flash looked around the office. "I was told you were nondenominational."

"We are," said Reverend Merkel. "And since we're making observations, it looks as though you went through something rough," pointing out the tears on the chest of Flash's costume.

"You could say that," Flash shrugged.

"But of course, you didn't come to discuss this mission's religious ties or your fashion damage. So, my scarlet friend, what brings you here?" Reverend Merkel inquired.

Flash took a deep breath, considering what he would say next. "Earlier this evening I fought a man who could bend his body parts all manner of different ways—he said he was 'triple-jointed'. He attacked your daughter, Alex Merkel—she's fine, by the way, no worries," he hastily tacked on as he saw the preacher's eyes widen. "She's the one who told me to come here. She said that both you and her brother Peter have skills as contortionists. And…that same man copped to the murders of five persons within the past four weeks, persons who went to school together with Peter."

Reverend Merkel eyed him. "And you think the man in question might be Peter."

"Not entirely, if I may be so bold, Reverend," said Flash. "Alex did say you haven't been with the circus in years, but you _have_ had experience being flexible, so to speak. Unfortunately, Peter's got more motive to kill these people, and just now I went to look for his circus group in Smallville—he wasn't there, and his manager doesn't know where he is. And that spells trouble for him, especially if the police can make a concrete link between him and the victims and decide to go after him."

"I see what you mean," Reverend Merkel said quietly.

Flash regarded the minister. "Somehow, you don't seem too surprised to hear that."

"It's definitely a shocking tragedy that these persons, members of Peter's graduating class no less, could wind up dead, and so brutally slain at that…and the idea that he's the one who sought out Alex for any such purpose is distressing…but that my son had a lot of anger at a lot of people, it's something I have become accustomed to, perhaps too much so." Reverend Merkel shook his head sadly. "But if anybody should be taking the blame for all this…it should be me."

"Why do you say that?" asked the speedster.

Reverend Merkel stood up and walked over to a bookshelf on the far wall, on which rested a framed photograph of younger versions of himself and his children. "After their mother died, I did the best I could to raise these two," he exposited. "Unfortunately, I suppose I spent more time being a preacher than a father. Every week whenever Peter came home from school, I'd see some signs that he'd been bullied by his peers…bullying that was made worse after they found out about his…abilities…and he frequently came running to me for help, and all I did…was to tell him to turn the other cheek, to love his enemies, to forgive them their trespasses, to not hold hatred in his heart lest he lose out on the power of God's forgiveness. I talked more than I acted…and it got to the point that, by his junior year, he'd just stopped listening to me." He inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly. "The day he graduated, he told me he hated the very air I breathed. Because I didn't protect him."

Flash noted how the man's hair, light brown with flecks of gray here and there, suddenly seemed grayer; how his shoulders drooped more than should be considered normal even for a sad man. "So you two don't speak at all now," he ventured.

"Barely," sighed Reverend Merkel. "I have a somewhat better relationship with Alexandra, but even then it's sporadic…she says she was the only one of us who tried to support Peter emotionally during high school, and I can't say I blame her for being upset with me for not doing my part. Still, my interactions with her are better than those with Peter—last time Alex tried to be a go-between for us, he told her not to bother playing mediator anymore, and then told me to my face to drop dead."

"Hmm." Flash pondered his next question. "It'll probably be a long shot, but…do you know anywhere he might go if he wanted to go somewhere just for a drive?"

"I'm sorry, but no. If only I could be so lucky to have that kind of information…not even Alex is privy to that, and she and Peter _are_ still speaking." Reverend Merkel shook his head and sat back down. "Oh, Lord help me…I've lost my wife physically, I've lost my son emotionally, and right now I'm just barely holding on to my daughter by a small communication thread. All I have going for me now is my faith…and I have to stay strong for the sake of my parishioners, the people who look to me to help them solve _their_ problems and give them guidance as the shepherd."

"But who shepherds the shepherd?" asked Flash.

Reverend Merkel sighed again and shrugged. "A question I often ask when I have my evening prayers."

"Hmm." Flash shook his head. "Well…I have to go. Sorry to bother you, Reverend."

"I'm sorry I haven't been of much help to you, son. May heaven's blessings come to you in the Father's own time," Reverend Merkel replied…and then he was alone in the office as Flash streaked out.

OOOOO

Running along the street that led to his house, Flash glanced around to see whether anyone might see him going into that one particular building. Satisfied that nobody was in sight, he prepared to dash indoors—and checked his movement, for at that moment he saw Barry standing at the window, looking outside at seemingly nothing in particular. "Hmm, how to go about this…?"

Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated his muscles—and in a split second he dashed through the front door, into his room, and grabbed the change of clothes he'd left at the house before heading out on patrol earlier, then back out through the front door before Barry even noticed the door had opened slightly. Then, heading into a dark corner of the garage where his car was parked, he hurriedly slipped on his normal clothes over his costume, braced himself, and hurried out at normal speed to the front door and knocked on it. "Hey, open up already!" he yelled.

In a moment the door was open and there stood Barry, looking peevish. "Jay, where have you been?" he demanded.

"Out," said Jay, making a face as he stepped in. "What, since when are you keeping schedule for me?"

"You need to call Dad ASAP and let him know you're home," Barry informed him. "He said he's sent a patrol to watch our place, what with all these crazy killings that have been going on. Also, he wants to know whether you've gotten any threatening e-mails like the other guys in our graduating group did—given how popular you were back during high school, there's a good chance the killer might target you next."

"All right, all right, I'll call him," and Jay crossed over to where the phone sat, picked up the receiver and dialed a number. "He'll probably have left the office already by now, so I'll buzz his cell-phone…"

"_Hello?"_ Commissioner West's voice came through on the other end.

"Hey, Dad, it's Jay; I just got in," Jay spoke up.

"_Oh, thank heaven you're okay," _his father responded. _"Has Barry told you yet? I've sent a police patrol to keep an eye on your house so that this serial killer doesn't try to sneak in and do anything to you boys. They should be circling your block a few times to case the area, then they'll park outside and keep watch."_

"Hey, look, there's the police patrol now," Barry remarked, looking out the window, even as a squad car drove leisurely past their driveway.

Jay sighed into the phone. "Dad, I realize you're concerned for our safety, but trust me, everything's going to be fine."

"_I'll only be assured when this psychopath gets caught,"_ said Commissioner West. _"But until then, I'm going to use every available power I have as commissioner of police to make sure my children are kept safe. Also, Jay…have you checked your e-mail? The previous victims all got threatening e-mails…what about you? Are you in the clear?"_

Jay paused, then decided to be honest. "I got an e-mail, Dad." He noted Barry's startled expression nearby, then quickly continued, "But I am not going to put my life on hold just because somebody has it out for me, and I am asking you, please don't ask me to do that."

"_Jay, I realize you're an adult and can choose for yourself…but please realize I am a concerned parent who wants to keep his children safe,"_ said Commissioner West, and suddenly Jay felt a spark of guilt as he heard the pleading tone in his father's voice. _"And if I feel this way, how do you think your mother will feel? It would kill her to lose you or your brother in this kind of manner."_

Remembering his earlier talk with Reverend Merkel, Jay nodded. "I know, Dad…I know," he said. "Look…can I ask you to at least trust me and Barry to stay safe? I'm not going to let this person do anything to either of us, I promise. If he tries, I'll just take his knife and stab him back."

"…_what."_

"The law talks about self-defense, right?" Jay returned. "In any case, the cops can keep up their patrol, but at least don't let them hound either of us in the name of protecting us. We're not babies anymore, and we shouldn't act like we're afraid just because this nut wants us to be."

There was silence on the other end of the line; then Commissioner West sighed. _"Very well, Jay; I'll take you at your word," _he said. _"Just watch yourselves and be safe, that's all."_

"Got it, Dad. And…thanks for the concern." Jay nodded again and smiled into the phone. "Take care of yourself and Mom, okay?"

"_You too, son."_ Then the commissioner hung up.

As Jay hung up the receiver, Barry crossed his arms. "Well, how about that? From the look on your face, I'd say you managed to appease Dad with your little speech," he chuckled.

"Oh, shut up," Jay grunted. "Let's just make sure all the doors and windows are locked, to be safe. That patrol should be passing back here soon, too, right?"

"Yeah, let them do their job," Barry replied, glancing outside the window again.

OOOOO

The night wore on, and the city soon drifted into sleep…but not everyone slept. Those who remained awake included those who were going out to clubs or restaurants…or those who were holding parties or watching late-night movies on cable or DVD…or those who were sharpening knives for murderous purposes, as Rag Doll was now doing.

_I have to admit, Flash…you were certainly a tenacious opponent today…but in the end, not even you will get in my way of accomplishing my mission._

His mask was off and thrown to one side, but his face remained in shadow even as he readied his blades. _Ah, Alexandra, dear Alex, Alex, Alex…it's only too bad you misinterpreted my intention today…I could never hurt you, not you…not after the part you played during these last few years. I truly only wanted to talk…it's just too bad Flash had to get involved and interrupt us. But no matter—there'll be time enough for us to catch up. For now…_

Picking up his hunting knife, he carefully caressed its dull side. _Well, I have other things to do for the time being, so Central City can get a bit of reprieve. And, too, I want to make sure that the ultimate punishment for Jay West comes at the most appropriate time…_

Suddenly a murderous grin of pearly-white teeth showed up on his face. _What better audience than that which you utilized to lead the charge of humiliation? What better staging ground than that which you used all throughout those years?_

Laying the hunting knife down, he surveyed all the blades he'd sharpened. _It's a sad thing I lost one of my knives at Alex's house during the fight with the Flash…the police investigators will probably be examining it even now…but it matters not. Soon, very soon, none of it will matter. By the time they glean anything useful for their reports, I will have already fulfilled my key objective…_

…_the death of Jay West._

Again the razor-grin appeared. _Rest well, Jay West, chief of sinners…just two more nights from tonight I will allow you, and then…then, your final sunrise will appear. And then…the last thing you will ever see is the setting of the sun on your own life!_

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 8**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—even as the police continue their investigations into the Rag Doll murders, Flash gets his expected audience with Peter Merkel Junior, but the meeting is anything but cordial! As well, Jay shares his high school experiences with Dexter Myles, and Gail Manners gets to talk to Barry and learns some interesting facts! Next chapter—_The Bitter Clown!_


	9. The Bitter Clown

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 9: The Bitter Clown**

"Ah, Fridays," Detective Frank Curtis sighed as he trekked out of his bathroom the next morning. "Too bad I'm not back in high school, or else I'd be doing a crazy rampage of joy to get home by 3:00…"

He looked around his modestly-furnished apartment and nodded with contentment on his face. He couldn't afford much more than the one chest-of-drawers, single-mattress bed, small dining table and the odd chair here and there that made up what he called home, certainly not on a police detective's monthly salary, but Curtis had never been one for extravagant living anyway. As long as his furniture could serve a functional and practical purpose, that suited him just fine. If he needed anything else, he'd buy it as he saw the need.

Setting the coffee-maker to make his brew while he got ready for work, he went to his wardrobe and selected a brown suit with a matching red tie. A little while later and he was buckling on his gun-belt, fastening his tie into place around his neck, and slinging on his jacket before spraying on a little cologne. Heading to his mini-fridge and opening it, he selected a brown take-out bag and, a minute later, was casually munching away at the cold-cut sandwich it contained. As a 41-year-old divorcee who'd been estranged from his wife and two children the last three years, the lack of conveniently-cooked breakfasts and dinners was the only thing he disliked about his lot in life…that, and the frequent lack of companionship a man of his age often wished for.

Curtis was well-known among the Central City police family as a very efficient, if sometimes too laid-back, crime-fighter. In fact, there was an oft-repeated story gaining credence among the younger cops that he could have easily been a candidate for police commissioner, but that he'd deliberately gotten less than the minimum acceptable grade on the written examination because he couldn't be bothered with the responsibilities that such a high position would require of him. For his part, the senior detective didn't care much for only sitting behind a desk barking orders all day; that role, he felt, should be reserved for officers who could be better role models to the city than him. As such, he'd felt absolutely no resentment when Maxwell West, only five years older than him, was officially appointed as the city's top cop five years ago; West, Curtis felt, couldn't possibly do any worse than he might were he the one in the commissioner's chair.

These last three years, he'd often wondered if it was resentment at his not striving harder for the commissioner's post and the prestige that it carried that led to his ex-wife dumping him. Well, at least it wouldn't have been any worse a reason than, say, unfaithfulness, or abuse, or caring more about his job than about his family, the explanation she'd often touted in the early stages of their split whenever asked about it by mutual friends. If anyone asked him, Curtis usually just shrugged and said they'd grown apart after ten months of initial bliss and a subsequent twelve years of drudgery, in which the only real happiness they'd gotten together came in the form of their nine-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter.

The coffee was now ready, and he poured it out into his traditional mug and drank it slowly, enjoying the bitter aftertaste of the hot black brew. "Nothing like a good cup to start the day right," he smiled.

Just then his phone rang, and he set the mug down in order to answer it. "Curtis here," he said brightly.

"_It's Hunter,"_ his much more youthful partner spoke up. _"The forensics guys have something on that knife they found at Alexandra Merkel's place. They're asking us to come over and get the report."_

Ever since he and Thaddeus Hunter had gotten paired together by their captain last year, Curtis frequently and privately bemoaned how strict, professional and by-the-book the younger man could often be, bordering on being uptight to the max. One of these days, Curtis swore he'd take Hunter to meet one of his cute long-time street contacts; maybe the poor fellow was so uptight because he had nobody to caress his head, he mused. At least Curtis himself had the excuse of being a divorced man; Hunter had no such justification, he figured.

"All right, I'll drop by and pick you up in fifteen."

OOOOO

Thirty minutes later the two detectives were ushered into the forensics laboratory, where a technician was waiting for them. "Got good news here, guys," the man informed them. "We had to run tests on the knife all night last night, but we've got little traces of blood along the lining of the blade just near the handle. The perp had tried to clean off the knife—but he wasn't totally thorough with it."

"Does the blood match any of the victims?" inquired Hunter.

"There's a definite match for one victim, Ira Ottey," and the technician provided them a print-out with the lab result.

"How about fingerprints?" Curtis wanted to know.

"No such luck with that—the handle was wiped clean," said the technician.

Hunter made a disgusted sound with his teeth. "So much for identifying our killer."

"But we do know that this knife was definitely used in at least one of the five murders," Curtis pointed out. "So it's not a total loss."

"Well, we managed to recover a few more knives like this one at yesterday's crime scene," the technician informed them. "We haven't finished the analysis on all of them, BUT…"

The detectives looked at him. "But?" Curtis prompted.

"We got something else on one of the other blades," and now the technician directed the cops to a hunting knife sitting by itself on his examination table. "This one right here, it's the biggest knife we recovered, bigger than the rest, and unlike the others it's got a partial serrated edge," he continued, pointing to the tiny jagged teeth along the bottom half of the blade. "This one was wiped with bleach pretty recently, so we couldn't get any usable blood-work from it…but we did find tiny traces of yellow metal dust in between the edges. Kind of like whoever was holding this knife was rubbing it against some kind of yellow metallic surface."

Curtis and Hunter looked at each other. "The Flash wears yellow gloves," Hunter noted.

"Maybe he was using them to defend against the killer's attack yesterday," said Curtis. "Any idea what kind of metal this would be?"

"Based on preliminary testing, I'd say brass," the technician replied.

"Well, all it proves is that Flash and this guy had a fight…but it doesn't get us any closer to knowing who the other guy is," Curtis replied, a disappointed note in his voice.

"Well, that's all right. We know that the other knife was used to kill Ira Ottey, and also that the killer's used this knife and had the foresight to clean it, so like you said, Curtis, it's not a total loss," said Hunter. "Thanks anyway, man. Let us know if you find anything else, okay?"

"Will do," the technician nodded.

OOOOO

The large clock-tower's time-piece just opposite the main lecture-room building of Central City University loudly chimed out the hour of 11:00 as students poured out of their various classes and dispersed to varying destinations; among that throng was Gail Manners, hurrying to catch her Advanced Biology class within the next ten minutes. "I hope I studied enough for the discussion today," she mumbled to herself as she walked along, tightly clutching her biology textbook to her chest.

Arriving moments later at the designated classroom, she selected a seat close to the front of the room where the huge white-board loomed on the wall. Taking out her notebook from her bag, she flipped the pages to the notes from the previous lecture and began to pore over the various chemical formulas her assigned group had gotten to memorize.

"Uh, excuse me…"

Startled, Gail turned her gaze to the speaker—and saw what looked like Jay, but with bright red hair instead of blond. "Oh! Um…you're Jay West's brother, aren't you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I'm Barry," the newcomer acknowledged, sitting down nearby. "I see you've had occasion to talk to my twin."

"Yes, he's come by the library a few times," said Gail.

"Jay? At the library?" Barry got up and looked outside the window. "Hmm, nope, the end of the world hasn't started yet…"

Gail giggled at this. "I was somewhat surprised, myself, that a big basketball star like him would be using the library. Oh! Sorry, I haven't told you my name," and she blushed. "Gail Manners."

"Nice to formally meet you, Gail," Barry said pleasantly, shaking her hand. "I've seen you in a few of my science classes, but I think this is the first time we're actually talking. I guess Jay's the common denominator, huh?"

"Looks that way," said Gail. "But can I just make an observation?"

"Sure, what is it?" asked Barry.

"You guys might be twins, but you're so…different from one another. Aside from the hair, I mean." Gail smiled. "He's big, he's upfront, and he's definitely athletic…but you're just a little bit smaller and leaner and you look like you'd make more of a high school professor than a water-boy."

"Yeah, well, I just don't see the appeal in throwing a ball around, and he doesn't get the importance of knowing about the deeper aspects of biology and chemistry," said Barry. "He grew up idolizing the legends of basketball stars like Michael Jordan and Larry Bird, and I grew up being more interested in the old stories of Michael Faraday, Einstein, Galileo, Edward Rosenow, et cetera."

"See? You've confirmed my personal analysis," said Gail. "Although…from what I've seen of your brother, there's more to him than meets the eye…"

"Oh?" Barry looked at her curiously.

"Yeah…he's a little more sensitive than he's willing to admit," Gail explained. "He actually came to the library and was worrying about this spate of killings that have happened, and how he might be impacted by them since the victims were mostly well-known faces back at Central City High. I think he needed someone to be a sounding board for him to express himself."

"Okay then…that definitely doesn't sound like the Jay I know," remarked Barry.

Gail looked at him. "Okay. You're his brother. What's the Jay you know like?"

Barry put on a theatrical face. "Jason Allen West, born in Keystone City on August 31, 2033, alongside twin brother Bartholomew Eobard West, to parents Maxwell and Laura West. Moved to neighboring Central City at age seven; developed a love for basketball and track-and-field events on television during his early years. During his spare time, derided Barry's lack of interest in anything sports-related, despite their parents' best and frequent efforts to show equal love to their sons. During high school, quickly carved out a place for himself in Central City High's sports activities by participating in basketball training and, to a lesser degree, in track meets…but also became a domineering figure among his fellow students, primarily targeting those he styled as 'nerds,' 'un-cool,' 'loners,' 'weirdos,' or anyone else who did not fit his own character mold. Examples of this behavior during this time include: trapping victims inside bathroom stalls to make them late for class, dumping juice-box beverages into male victims' laps, 'accidentally' vandalizing victims' textbooks or notebooks, spreading humiliating rumors about select victims, punching shorter or weaker students on the shoulder as a form of 'greeting' while treating his friends more normally, intimidating students out of specific lunch items as he had the appetite, setting up students to sit down on wads of bubble gum, and the classic act of posting 'Kick Me' signs on the backs of unsuspecting victims."

Gail blinked. "Okay…sounds like he was a busy guy during high school."

"Oh, he was," agreed Barry. "But because he was such a prodigy in the school's regular inter-state basketball competitions, he was also quite popular—at least, among his fellow jocks and among the cheerleaders and high-society female students. Also, many of his victims rarely spoke out for fear of reprisal from him or his associates, or because they desperately hoped that they could somehow curry his favor and become part of his circle of friends. Those who were brave enough to speak out against him did so with the knowledge that they risked being ostracized by the members of the wider school body who were loyal to him. Additionally, he only ever did enough of his bullying tactics that he would somehow manage to keep out of trouble; and if he did get into trouble, the worst he ever got was the occasional detention period by the one or two teachers who did not subscribe to bowing to his popularity."

Gail lifted her eyebrows a little as she pondered what Barry was telling her. "Doesn't sound as though you had a happy high school experience with your brother," she remarked.

"If only my experiences were limited to high school," sighed Barry. "These days, Jay keeps it at just insulting my interest in science and anything related to forensic lab-work. But even now, it still baffles me how he was able to perform as scholastically well as he did, despite not studying as much as I did. He was actually able to match my final-year GPA!"

"Maybe you both inherited different levels of smarts," Gail suggested with a smile.

Barry shrugged. "I guess."

The smile then gradually vanished from Gail's face as a thought came to her. "Um, Barry, just a hypothetical question…but that serial killer that's out there, do you suppose it could be someone Jay used to pick on?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Barry. "The only thing I'd be curious to know is _who_ the person is."

"It would be really sad," Gail said softly. "Some people never really recover from childhood and teenage traumas, and it deforms who they are in adulthood."

"Mmm-hmm," Barry nodded. "So, what's your perception of Jay now, now that I've told you all of this about him?"

Gail thought about the question. "Well, I've only just begun to know him; I've only really run into him about three times by now, by my recollection," she answered. "You don't generally get to learn everything about a person from just the first few meetings. It takes time to build an acquaintanceship, then a friendship."

"Hmm…I guess you're right about that," Barry conceded.

While they had been talking, more students had gradually come into the room; now the instructor was arriving. "Looks like we'll have to continue this chat another time. But it was nice to meet you, Barry," Gail smiled again.

"Likewise," returned Barry.

OOOOO

"Alley-oop!" Jay cried as he leaped up and shot the basketball toward the hoop. The ball bounced against the hoop's rim, lingered there a moment, then sank down into the netted goal and fell to the court. "All right!"

Close by, his team-mate John Fox cocked an eyebrow at him. "Dude, 'alley-oop'?"

"What? It sounds cool," Jay argued.

"That's one man's opinion," John shook his head. "C'mon, Jay, we've been practicing for the past hour. Can't we sit down a bit? I'm getting tired."

"This, coming from the man who's going to be a major basketball sensation in the big-leagues by next year?" Jay asked, but nonetheless he gathered up the basketball and headed for the nearby stands. "Ah, well, it's true that we _have_ been at it for a while. We can cool out for a few minutes."

"Ah, there you are, young fellow! I've been looking for you!"

Looking up, the two friends observed an elderly man entering the stadium. "Eh? Dexter?" Jay queried.

"Oh, friend of yours?" said John.

"We met at the anniversary reopening of the Flash Museum," Jay explained. "He's a pretty cool guy, actually—works as the museum's curator."

"Wait, hang on—this is Dexter Myles? _The_ Dexter Myles?" John stepped forward and greeted the old man. "Hey, Mr. Myles! Name's John Fox. You're the Flash Museum curator, right? I really like what you've done with that place, I tell you—it looks so awesome!"

"Oh, uh, thank you," said Dexter. "A friend of Jay's, I take it? Feel free to come by the museum sometime, and we'll be glad to give you a tour. We've updated some of the exhibits, and we're just now beginning work on a new wing that'll incorporate elements of our current Flash's exploits."

"Nice!" John grinned.

"Hey, John, why don't you hit the showers? Let me find out what Dex is up to," Jay suggested.

"All right, I guess I'll catch you later then. Nice to meet you, Mr. Myles!" John said cheerily, walking off.

"Ah, likewise, young man," Dexter nodded after him. To Jay he added, in a low tone, "Your friend is certainly a Flash fan of the highest order."

"Eh, he's just one more on the list—you should meet my mom and my brother," Jay shrugged. "So, what prompted you to come looking for me here at school?"

"I just thought I should come and check up on you…I saw on the news about the murders of your former schoolmates. I can only imagine how it must be for you." Dexter's face was now grave. "How _are_ you holding up, son?"

"Uh…pretty well, all things considered," said Jay. "No need to worry, old man—the Flash is already following a pretty good lead into this case. I'm to meet with a former classmate of mine today, over in Smallville, who might help me confirm or disprove a suspicion I've got."

"Smallville?" Dexter queried.

"Yeah. I fought the killer yesterday when he invaded the apartment of a girl I went to school with, and he was able to bend his body parts all kinds of ways," explained Jay. "Then I found out from the same girl that her brother's a circus contortionist, so I zipped over to Smallville—but he wasn't at the circus there, and the manager had no idea where he was and couldn't get hold of him by phone. He's scheduled for a show today, though, so I plan to get over there by 2:00 and have a chat with him."

"I see. So you're hunting down clues and building a case like a detective," remarked Dexter.

"Well, officially the Flash can't make any arrests, at least not until the city officials decide to deputize me, so the next best thing is to gather up clues that the police can reasonably believe," said Jay. "I just wonder how the meeting with this guy will go, though…the one major thing all the victims had in common that I was able to figure out is that they all managed to humiliate or tick him off at some point during high school."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Dexter. "I thought the news reports said all five of the victims were popular or otherwise well-known figures during their school years, and that all of them got threatening messages prior to their deaths…"

"But the girl whose house the killer broke into, the one I saved—she wasn't a very popular person, so she wouldn't fit the target profile," Jay noted. "I want to gauge her brother's reaction when I talk to him…see how he responds to all these deaths. Sure, he might have been out of town for a while, but Smallville's only a couple of kilometers away from Central City, and the murders were spaced days apart, plus his circus group's been in the Smallville area roughly the past four weeks—if he's the culprit, he'd have enough time to drive here into town, kill each person, then drive back to Smallville without anyone missing him…unless they couldn't get him on the phone or identify his whereabouts, like yesterday."

"Plausible, but until you get absolutely solid evidence, all you have is a theory," Dexter advised him.

"Not for long…" Jay looked off to one side, determination in his eyes.

OOOOO

Later that afternoon, a bright red blur streaked into Smallville, passing the big clock-tower in the middle of the town square that was just at that moment ticking off the hour of 2:00, and heading for the entrance to the open clearing where the circus was still pitched and active. As he approached the entrance, Flash noted that, in contrast to the day before, the area was now bustling with activity as vendors sold popcorn, cotton candy and hot dogs to patrons of all ages, clowns passed out balloons to children, couples tested their aim by hitting targets with water balloons to win stuffed animal prizes, and young men tested their strength at the nearby ring-the-bell attraction.

Shaking his head as he remembered that he was not there for pleasure, he headed up to the security guard at the entrance. "Howdy," he greeted the man.

The security guard stiffened on seeing him. "You again!" he exclaimed, a hand going protectively to his belt buckle.

"What? Didn't Mr. Julian tell you I'd be back today?" Flash asked. "Anyway, I'd like to see him, please."

"One sec…" The guard pulled out his cell-phone and rung up a number. "Yeah, Mr. Julian, Bernard here. Yeah, the Flash is back…okay." He hung up and turned to Flash. "Peter Merkel's waiting for you. He's in the red trailer at the back." And then he checked his belt buckle again.

"Relax, I haven't pulled down your pants…" Suddenly Flash gave a mischievous smirk. "Or maybe I have and then pulled your pants back up so fast you didn't even notice."

The guard looked creeped out. "Just go inside," and he stepped far away from the entrance.

"Cool." With that, Flash sped past the guard and headed further into the lot, eventually stopping outside a big red trailer. His eyes narrowing, he stepped up to the trailer door and knocked loudly on it. "Peter Merkel?" he called.

"Come in," a voice answered. "The door's open."

Pulling the door open and stepping into the trailer, Flash took a moment to let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness after having been outside in the sun's glare. "Where are you?" he asked, looking around but seeing nobody in the moderately-decorated room.

All at once a previously unseen trap-door sprung open from the floor just in front of him, and out of it jumped a thin-featured man clad in a wild baggy outfit colored in black, purple and green stripes with a crazy-looking blue-nosed clown mask on his face. Immediately he lunged for Flash's throat—but just as the man's fingertips touched him, Flash responded promptly by grabbing his would-be assailant's wrists and thrusting one foot into the man's stomach, sending him flying backwards and landing on his rump. The attacker immediately rolled backwards in a ball and leaped to his feet—in time to see Flash charge straight at him, fist drawn back.

The assailant dived out of the way just as Flash punched forward. Realizing he'd missed, Flash turned to see the other man now in a strange sort of reverse-cross-legged position on the floor, as his knees were bent the wrong way in the sitting position—and the man was waving his hands frantically. "Easy, easy! I was just testing you!" the man exclaimed.

Flash checked his step. "Peter Merkel, I'm assuming? You've got a weird way of saying hello to guests…" He observed the man's strange manner of sitting. "Actually, that's probably the most normal thing about you."

Peter now flipped himself into a standing position, even as his knees bent back at a normal angle. "I had to be sure you actually were who you said you were," he said. "Anybody could put on a costume and claim to be any old superhero."

"I see," Flash replied, but his frown hadn't vanished.

Shrugging, Peter turned and walked over to a mirror, where he now proceeded to remove his mask and revealed a brown-haired young man with prominent cheek-bones in his face. "I got a call from my sister this morning…she told me how you came to her rescue," he said quietly.

"Then I guess you know why I'm here," said Flash, stepping forward.

"Yeah. You think I'm somehow connected to those five murders." Peter gazed darkly into the mirror. "I'm not at all surprised. A lot of crazy stuff was said and believed about me back in high school…I guess a guy gets used to it after a while."

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Merkel…I just want to hear your side of things," said Flash.

"And if I tell you my side of things, will your perception of me change? I don't think it'll make a difference—you'll probably take the side of the dead," said Peter.

"Try me," said Flash. "What's _your_ opinion on the five who died? You went to school with them, and they were pretty well-known back in those days, right?"

Peter frowned. "You want me to be honest? Then maybe I should get a lawyer before I say anything."

"Hey, I'm not a cop. Anything you say to me won't be admissible in a court of law. And I can only do a citizen's arrest if I catch you obviously doing something wrong—and so far, at least right here, you haven't," said Flash. "Besides, I think you do want to express those thoughts—you just need the incentive."

The contortionist looked at the speedster out of the corner of his eye. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Truth be told…I'm not surprised those particular five got cut up by that killer. In fact, I'm glad they're dead. They had it coming for a long time." His voice was thick with searing hatred. "The only thing I'm sorry about is that whoever did it couldn't have added a certain idiot basketball jock from back then to his checklist."

Flash lifted an eyebrow. "Idiot basketball jock…?"

"Jay West." Peter spat the name out. "That guy always thought he was such a hotshot, just because he was such a big name on the school's basketball team. Him, Ira Ottey, Evan Walters—the three of them used to follow me around the school and throw all kinds of insults at me, knock my books out of my hands, steal my lunch—heck, one time they tried to stuff me into a toilet—and all because of _this,"_ and here he bent one of his arms into various weird angles at the elbow. "And then when Julia Xavier and Sheila Hanna shot me down after I tried to ask them out, those guys were there, laughing and pointing, and getting everyone else to mock me about it for weeks after that…and West had the gall to mock me when Morton Young refused to give me a chance to even try out for the drama club. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if that prima-donna Young set it up to try and get into West's good graces."

"Your sister and your father didn't paint such a descriptive picture when I talked to them," Flash commented.

Peter started. "You talked to my father?" he exclaimed, spinning around from the mirror to face Flash directly. "Tch. That guy who called himself my dad was a useless moron of the cloth," he growled, his face expressing the bitterness that came out of his voice. "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, pray for them that use and persecute you, that's all he'd say when I tried to tell him what I was going through…well, I'd like to see him bless his enemies after they've slipped hot pepper sauce into his cherry milk."

"Yeah…I kinda picked up from him that you two got estranged," Flash ventured.

"Estranged? The man is dead to me," Peter said with finality.

Flash eyed him. "And your sister?"

"Alex…" At that the bitterness drained away from Peter's face as his expression became more pensive. "She did the best she could, my little sister…she was the only one who made any effort to help me get through those days of torture back at Central City High…well, not totally true, there _was_ Jay West's brother Barry. The guy tried to stick up for me once, but he got drenched with a fire-hose for his trouble and then he never tried to have anything to do with me after that. Considering it was his own _brother_ who hosed him, though, and the fact they'd have had to live in the same house so long, I don't think I can blame Barry too much…he probably had enough troubles of his own, having to live with a guy like that, without having to add me to his list of problems."

"I see." Flash pondered what he would say next. "Well, Merkel, if you're not the killer, how do you explain your unavailability yesterday when I came here to look for you?"

"I'd gone out for a drive, and my phone was dead," replied Peter.

"Where?" Flash wanted to know.

"Out on the highway. I didn't go anywhere specific—I just like to be out in the middle of nowhere sometimes. It helps me to think." Peter sighed and shrugged. "I know how it sounds, but as much as I hated those guys, I didn't kill them. Of course, I guess just my saying that isn't of any use if I can't have anybody to back up my claims, right?"

"I won't sugar-coat it, Merkel—you've got plenty of motive, and as far as I can tell, you'd have plenty of opportunity," Flash noted. "There'd be enough time in between the murders for you to come and go between Smallville and Central City without anybody's suspicions being raised here, since the circus has been in Smallville quite a number of weeks. And there's only one other contortionist I'm aware of besides you, but he doesn't have any motive to kill these kids."

"You mean Peter Merkel Senior?" Peter scowled. "Well, you're right about that, at least. He didn't have the guts to be a man, to be a REAL dad, and stand up for his son…and he'd never met any of those cretins anyway, or seen with his own two eyes what they did to me. He wouldn't have the courage to go pick up a knife and slice up salami, much less a human being."

"Hmm." Flash's frown deepened. "I know about your upcoming alumni reunion. I take it you'll be there?"

"Definitely," Peter answered, nodding grimly. "I'll be there, mainly because Alex convinced me I should come for her sake. Plus, I've got some unfinished business to settle there. Once that's done, then I can get on with my life."

"I hear you. Well, all right. Thanks for your time." Flash turned to leave.

"Flash." Peter's voice gave the speedster pause. "If you do find the guy who's responsible for the killings…tell him Peter Merkel Junior says thanks."

Flash's brow furrowed, but he made no reply. He simply left in a streak of crimson.

OOOOO

_Knock, knock!_

"Coming!" Laura West announced as she hurried to answer the door. "Oh? Jay, dear, welcome home! Come on in!" she greeted her blond-haired son.

"Hey, Mom," said Jay, stepping inside the house and heading for the couch.

"You came alone? Didn't you bring Barry with you?" Laura inquired, looking outside but not seeing anybody else in Jay's parked car.

"Barry's still at school. I just got the urge to come see you." Jay shot her a mischievous grin. "What, can't a son give his mom a surprise visit once in a while?"

"Silly boy." Laura came over and ruffled his hair. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

"Thanks, Mom, I'll come make a sandwich," and Jay started to get up.

"Nonsense," Laura said firmly, putting her hands on Jay's shoulders and pushing him back down onto the couch. "You're a visitor right now, so let me be hostess. Corned beef with ketchup, lettuce and tomato and pickles, right?"

"You know it!" said Jay.

Laura headed to the kitchen and immediately began to take out the necessary ingredients for the sandwich. As she did so, though, she glanced out into the living room at Jay. "Your father told me about the threat you got in your e-mail," she said quietly.

"…yep." Jay nodded, some of his grin vanishing. "I guess this is the part where you become the doting mother."

"I'm here in the kitchen, making my grown-up son's favorite sandwich despite him being perfectly physically capable of making it himself and saving me the work…that should have been your first clue." Laura was now using a knife to spread butter on a slice of bread. "You know, Jay…considering what's known about those other murders of your fellow Central City High graduates, I'm honestly not surprised. You gave so much trouble during those years…it comes as no surprise someone who resented your popularity would lash out like this."

"How do you know it's someone with popularity issues?" asked Jay.

"Don't insult my intuition, **Jason."** Laura set the knife down with a sharp clatter on the counter, even as she caught Jay's flinch; she knew he'd always hated her using his full first name in _that_ tone of voice. "You think I don't remember the numerous times I'd get phone calls here at home from concerned parents, complaining about their children being victimized by you? Or the number of times Barry would complain that you were teasing or picking on him because he wasn't an athlete like you? Or all those evenings you came home with bruises and scrapes that weren't from basketball or track practice?"

"Mom…Mom, all that was years ago. I was a kid then," Jay insisted, getting up and going into the kitchen to join his mother. "It's been eight years since I first started attending Central City High, and four since I graduated from there."

"But people can hold grudges for far longer than that, Jay." Laura looked imploringly at him. "It's very difficult for people to forget when someone has wronged them. Of the people who'll be at your graduation class's reunion the day after tomorrow, how many of them will remember whichever pranks you used to pull on them? I can't help but think what'll happen when you go there…"

Jay briefly thought back to his earlier conversation with Peter Merkel Junior. "Well…I'd tell you not to worry so much, but I guess that won't be of much help," he commented.

"And why would it?" Laura asked. "Ever since your father told me about you getting that e-mail, I've been wondering to myself…were we too lax in disciplining you? Did we give you too much leeway because you were Central City's high school basketball pride? Could we have done something more to stop this from happening? If so, what?"

"Mom, Mom, Mom—that's enough. You're not a horrible parent, so stop thinking you are." Jay shook his head. "Look. I had all this popularity back then, I let it get to my head, and I picked on a lot of people to show off to the other cool kids. As for Barry, well, I was just trying to toughen him up a little—he was so scrawny back then, any of the other guys on the football or basketball teams might've jumped him every day if I didn't declare him off-limits territory. And it all worked out well for him, didn't it? Now he's got Daphne, and _she_ was both smart and one of the best-looking girls in the school."

"I'm pretty certain he doesn't see it the same way—just as I'm sure those other students back then wouldn't look at what you did as simply 'showing off'," said Laura, giving him a withering look. "Listen to me, Jay, and if you remember nothing else of this conversation, remember this. Even the slightest action we take has consequences, both immediate and long-term. Are you aware of how many kids kill themselves every year because they were bullied, or how many lash out violently because they couldn't take it anymore? And how many do you think grow up and become bullies themselves, whether to their own families or in the workplace, because they want to give as good as they got? Oh, some people might say it's a small number, that a good portion of bullying victims grow up well-adjusted and learn to forgive, but if people are getting hurt as a result of one set of actions from decades ago, then that 'small number' is still a pretty substantial number."

Jay sucked on his lower lip a little as silence reigned in the kitchen. "Well," he said at last, "what would you suggest I do at this stage? Like I said, it's been years since all that happened."

"And like I said, people don't forget, or forgive, the wrongs they've suffered that easily," Laura reiterated. "What I'd suggest, though, is that you try and make peace with the people you hurt in high school…including Barry. Who knows whether or not _he's_ nursing a grudge against you, too? Better safe than sorry, my son."

"Okay, Mom, I'll try my best at the reunion…although I doubt it'll really make a difference now. It's all water under the bridge, to me," said Jay.

"To _you,"_ said Laura. "You never can tell who you might impact with a simple 'I'm sorry', Jay. It is not a sign of weakness to apologize when you have done something wrong. Once you have done that, and you mean it, then the burden of the wrong is off your shoulders."

Jay recalled how he, as the Flash, had given a subtle apology to Alex Merkel for what her family had had to endure. _Actually apologizing to her as Jay West isn't going to be nearly so easy, somehow I just know that._

"All right, Mom. I'll do my best. I can't promise you any great results, though."

"Just as long as you do your best, that's all I'll ask of you." Laura smiled at him now. "Now, how about you help me finish this corned beef sandwich?"

OOOOO

Alex Merkel had taken extra precautions about the security of her apartment following yesterday's break-in by the bizarre Rag Doll. In fact, she'd gone the extra mile, double- and triple-checking to ensure all her windows were properly locked, her door was locked and bolted, and she'd even checked to ensure the ventilation grate in the ceiling of the living room was properly bolted in place and that enough heavy objects were placed on top of the toilet seat. She personally wasn't so sure even a serial killer who could bend his limbs would stoop so low as to try and sneak in via the toilet, but considering the contortionist abilities this person had, she wasn't about to leave anything to chance.

Not even if the man behind the mask was her own relative.

So now she slept, a baseball bat clutched in her hand for protection, ready to be used to whack any intruder just in case someone somehow managed to get inside. She'd never been too heavy a sleeper, also, so if someone tried to sneak in, she'd definitely hear any noise they might make and wake up to defend her life and property.

That suited Rag Doll just fine. He wasn't bothered by it. He had other things in mind now, anyway.

Quietly climbing up to where Alex's apartment was, he crept over the railing and alighted softly on the landing. Sneaking over to one of the windows, he peeked in and beheld Alex in bed, her grip on the bat gradually loosening as her body relaxed more into dreamland.

_Sweet Alex…_ Rag Doll sighed silently. _I didn't want to frighten you yesterday at all…but I guess it couldn't be helped. _He reached a hand to his face and felt his mask. _You wouldn't have any way of knowing whose face was behind this mask, after all._

Eyes narrowing, he rested his palm against the window's glass pane and looked a little longer at the sleeping Alex. His jaw tensed. _Just a little longer…just wait a little while longer, Alex…then the source of all the troubles you've had to endure all along will be dealt with. The day after tomorrow…_

A slight shift in movement inside the apartment caught his attention. Alex was rolling over in her bed, her face turning toward the window. Immediately Rag Doll ducked down out of view of the pane, crouching as far down as his body would allow him to bend. Then, moving like a crab, he inched to one side, away from beneath the window, until his back was to the wall again. Carefully, he eased himself into a standing position and pressed himself against the wall, daring to slowly stick his head toward the window and peek in again. He breathed a little sigh of relief as he saw that Alex was still sleeping, probably deep in whatever dream she was having…

OOOOO

"_No…no…no…"_

_Alex was standing in a dark, empty passageway. There was almost no light except for what shone from a window far ahead of her…but the light, instead of providing assurance, filled her with an incredible unease that she couldn't describe or explain._

_The floor felt cold under her feet…in fact, the whole atmosphere of the place chilled her skin…and then she saw why: she was clad only in her night-gown. Definitely not the kind of attire for anywhere outside of her bedroom. "H-hello…?" she called uncertainly. "Is anybody here?"_

_She wasn't prepared for a hand tearing through the floor-tiles and grabbing her ankle. Letting out a startled shriek, she kicked at the hand in an effort to dislodge it, eventually freeing herself of its grasp and readying herself to flee—and she ran headlong into a thick-bodied individual, getting knocked down as a result. Looking up to see what she'd stumbled into, she felt her heart stop beating when she found her eyes making four with…Morton Young's eyes._

_Except those eyes were bone-white. No pupils, no color. Like the un-dead in many a bad horror movie…except this un-dead was much too close for her liking. Even worse, the skin around the face was falling apart, revealing the grisly detail of bone underneath. As well, Morton was clad in a blood-soaked shirt with numerous tears in it, allowing Alex to see the wounds from which the blood was coming—jagged knife-wounds, quite deep too._

_Then Morton spoke—and his voice was empty and hollow, ringing out in the entire passageway. "Your fault, Merkel…could've stopped it…didn't…" he rasped._

_The hand that had burst out of the tiles moments earlier now was accompanied by a second hand…and as the floor tore apart, the hands lifted their accompanying body out into the open…and this figure was Sheila Hanna, dirty, blood-stained, and with lifeless eyes and a nightmarish expression on her decayed face. "Could have saved us…shouldn't have let us die…" she whispered, her soundless voice likewise echoing._

_Swiftly lifting herself to her feet, Alex dashed around and past Morton and—screamed out in pain as a hand burst out of the wall and grabbed her by her hair. A head burst out of the wall, too, with a face she recognized as Ira Ottey's. "Take responsibility!" Ira spoke wrathfully, his likewise milky-white eyes boring into her terrified face._

"_Our deaths needless…" Evan Walters' body seemed to drop down from the ceiling, then stood upright and slowly shuffled with menacing intent toward the captive Alex even as Ira held her fast._

"_Will be avenged…" Julia Xavier appeared from out of seemingly nowhere, now joining the others as their distorted faces came closer, ever closer, ever closer._

"_No! No! Get off me! Get away! NOOOO!" Alex screamed, even as the entire environment around them suddenly exploded into what appeared to be mirror-shards, several of those shards flying at her, slashing her all over her face, mutilating her…_

…and Alex flew upright with a start, the tail-end of her scream dying in her throat. The dark atmosphere of her apartment greeted her vision. Breathing heavily, sharply, she glanced around…and glanced toward the window.

A red-haired, pale-faced figure, silhouetted by the pale moonlight, was standing outside the window.

Eyes widening, Alex reached for the baseball bat—not on the bed. Looking around wildly, she spotted it on the ground where she'd dropped it, reached down and grabbed it, and looked up at the window again—

Nobody.

Jumping up, Alex ran to the door, unbolted it, and pushed it open just enough for her to stick her head outside to look…and there was nobody there.

Breathing rapidly through her nose, Alex darted her gaze from one side to the next. She was truly alone.

And then, almost without realizing it, she slowly loosened her grip on the bat, letting it fall with a clatter to the floor, before she herself fell to her knees moments later, buried her face in her hands, and started to cry.

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 9**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—Rag Doll counts down the hours on the day before the alumni get-together, while Jay contemplates his mother's admonition and what, if anything, he should say at the party when the time comes! It all culminates in a defiant presence by the graduating class of 2051 at the get-together the following evening, and a climactic showdown looms between the Flash and Rag Doll! Next chapter—_Party Wrecker!_


	10. Party Wrecker

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 10: Party Wrecker**

_Today is Saturday._

In his room, which was still deliberately darkened in spite of the morning sun shining brightly outside, Rag Doll lay on his little cot, staring up at the ceiling. Again his mask lay to one side, yet his face remained hidden in shadow due to the lack of proper lighting. Darker than the room, however, were his thoughts.

_Another twenty-four hours from now…then it will all be over._

He glanced across the room at a clock that was on the wall. One of the few items in the place that had sufficient light thrown on it, its hands indicated that the time was now 9:45 a.m.

_Just a little longer. For now…I can rest. For now…fulfilment of retribution can wait._

Turning his head to look back at the ceiling, he narrowed his gaze. _Alex…you suffered last night…but by tomorrow, your suffering will be over. I promise you._

OOOOO

Alex's eyes slowly opened. She hadn't slept well at all following her nightmare the previous night; it was just approaching sunrise before she'd finally managed to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. Now, as her aching muscles protested her movements and her rebelling nerves tingled, she glanced over at her bedside clock. 12:20.

"Ugh…so much for beauty rest…can't believe I slept out half of the whole day…" Alex grumbled as she struggled to pull herself upright. "Gosh, what a night…zombie nightmare classmates, a creepy face at my window, the last six daylight hours gone and never to come back…what's next?"

She glanced at her cell-phone, sitting next to the clock, and then reached over and looked at it. The message on the screen jumped out at her: _3 missed calls._

"Say what?" she groaned, immediately falling back down on the bed. "Who's been trying to call me? Was I really _that_ out of it that I didn't even hear the phone?"

Dialing the service number on her phone, Alex listened as the messages in storage played. _"Hey, Alex, it's Peter,"_ she heard her brother's voice coming through. _"I'm thinking to stop by your place today…we really need to talk. With everything that's been happening, there's just so much craziness…maybe it's better if I see you in person. Just giving you that heads-up."_

She deleted that message and listened to the next one. _"Alex, honey, it's Dad,"_ the much older voice announced. _"The Flash came to see me…I'd like to come and see you, make sure you're okay. I'll be by later today."_

The message was deleted, and then Alex played the third message. _"Alex, Peter again. I've tried calling you but I'm not getting through. I hope everything's okay on your end. If you get this before I come over, give me a call, okay?"_

Just then there was a loud knock on the door. "Hello?" she heard her father's voice outside. "Alex, you home? It's Dad."

"Uh, coming, I'm not decent," Alex called, hurriedly getting out of bed and grabbing a T-shirt from the nearby dresser-drawer. Moments later she was changed out of her nightgown, had the T-shirt on, and was pulling on a casual-looking jeans-skirt, and then she hurried outside to the living and opened the door. "Hi, Dad."

"Sweetheart, are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Reverend Merkel said apologetically, catching Alex in a tight embrace.

"Uh, I'm fine, Dad," said Alex, awkwardly returning the hug. "Can I breathe now?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Reverend Merkel released her. "I called you earlier and had to leave a message."

"I saw. I was asleep…didn't get much rest last night," said Alex, shaking her head. "You want to come in? I could make some coffee…"

"Thank you, dear, but no coffee for me…I have to cut back or else I'll get dependent," Reverend Merkel smiled. "Could I maybe have some water, though?"

"Sure, no problem. Make yourself comfortable…I'm sorry about the mess," said Alex, looking ruefully at the state of her apartment. "The police were all over this place after that creepy serial killer broke in…"

"I understand. Considering what's happened, I wouldn't expect a squeaky-clean environment immediately after, anyway," said the minister, sitting down on the settee. "Was there that much damage done inside?"

"Luckily, the only thing that got any serious damage was the TV," Alex replied with a wry chuckle, heading to the kitchen and taking a glass out of the cabinet. "I don't mind, though—I was going to get an upgraded one, in any case." She then walked over to the faucet and turned it on to catch water in the glass. "But enough about me for now…how are you doing?"

"All things considered, I'm managing okay," replied Reverend Merkel. "I'm just—oh! Peter!"

"What are _you_ doing here?" a familiar voice asked, with a clear mixture of surprise and displeasure.

Eyes widening, Alex hurried out of the kitchen with the now-full glass, just in time to see her father standing up from the settee with a startled expression while her brother stood just inside the apartment's entrance with a narrowed gaze fixed on the older man. "Peter!" she exclaimed. "I, um, I got your messages…"

"Yeah. Glad you did." Peter's tone wasn't as harsh now, but the expression on his face didn't soften at all even as he continued to glare at Reverend Merkel. "Why's this old fossil here?"

"Peter, please…" Alex began.

But Reverend Merkel held up a hand to stop her. "It's all right, Alexandra." Then he looked again at Peter. "I came here because I was concerned about your sister's well-being, considering she'd recently come face-to-face with the person who's been attacking your former classmates. It's natural for a father to worry about his children, after all."

Peter snorted. "It's a little late for you to make that statement now. Look, I don't care if Alex wants to continue treating you like a dad—that's her business. But don't expect me to follow suit after you refused to actually _be_ a dad when I needed one."

"Right now, this is not about us—it's about your sister," Reverend Merkel said quietly. "I came because I wanted to make sure she was okay, as I'm sure you likewise came to ensure."

"Well, now, there's one thing we have in common…reluctantly." Peter turned to Alex. "Sis, that creep didn't touch you, did he? The Flash told me how you'd been attacked…"

"Yes, but he saved me from the killer," Alex reassured him. "Only…"

"Only what?" Reverend Merkel prompted.

Alex looked from her father to her brother and back again. "Um…when the Flash talked to both of you, did he mention anything in particular about the killer…?"

"Yeah. He said the killer was multi-jointed…just like you'd told me he said to you." Peter glanced down at his hands. "He thinks I did it. That I killed those people."

"Did you?" Alex asked pointedly.

Peter looked as though he'd been slapped. "No, Alex, I didn't. I might not have liked them, but I didn't do it!" he exclaimed.

Reverend Merkel put his hands in his pockets. "When Flash came to see me, he indicated you'd have plenty of motive for it—and you just said it yourself, you didn't like those people," he said gravely.

"Since when did you care?" Peter asked the older man acidly.

"I realize you may find this hard to believe, Peter, but there's never been a time when I _didn't_ care," Reverend Merkel answered, almost pleadingly.

"But you think I'm responsible for those murders," Peter hissed. "What's next, old man—a lecture on subjecting myself to those in authority, or 'rendering to Caesar what is Caesar's,' so that I won't look guiltier?"

"Guys, please!" Alex stepped in between them. "Look, Peter, nobody here is saying you ARE the killer, okay?"

"Except, who else exists in the area that can bend their body like I can?" Peter then gave a mocking demonstration of his flexibility by bending both elbows the wrong way. "The only other person who can do anything like that is this guy," scornfully indicating Reverend Merkel, "but—one—he hasn't done it in ages since he quit the circus, and he's too old for it now anyway, while on the other hand I do it for my living and can bend sixty ways to Sunday, and—two—he's never spent time with those five dead people to know them as well as I had to! So it's all on me—and that suspicion lies within even my own sister!"

Alex looked pained. "Peter…the police don't even know the killer is capable of bending his body like that," she insisted. "I'm the only one Flash mentioned it to, aside from the two of you, and I haven't told the police anything else since then. That's because I didn't want to get you into trouble—and I don't want to believe you did it, even if you do have a plausible motive."

"You don't have to like me, Peter, but at least have faith in your sister," Reverend Merkel interjected. "She has faith in you."

"But you don't put your faith in man, but only in God. Typical," Peter growled.

Alex now remembered she was still holding the glass of water. "Um, here, Dad," she offered it to her father. "Peter, can I get you anything?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I won't be staying long." Peter cast a glance at the reverend as he said this.

"It's all right. I was gearing up to leave, anyway." Reverend Merkel drank the water down quickly, then handed the glass back to Alex. "Thanks for the water, honey," he addressed her. "Uh, are you good for your get-together tomorrow?"

"Yes, Dad," Alex answered. "Everybody who said they'd be there will be there."

"Okay, very well." Reverend Merkel nodded. "I wish I could come and see you there, but that kind of event is to be shared between you and your fellow past graduates. You can let me know how it goes afterward, though. Well…I'd better go for the time being." He glanced at his son and nodded once. "Peter." And then he headed for the door and was gone.

"Is it just me, or did a pollutant just blow away from the premises?" Peter asked dryly.

"Peter, please. Isn't it enough that Dad's left now?" Alex asked reproachfully. "Anyway, I think you mentioned something in one of your messages about wanting to talk to me about something."

"Yeah, I did," Peter admitted. "I wanted to see you…make sure my kid sister was okay…and from all indications, you are."

Alex didn't say anything for a long moment, but walked into the kitchen to put the glass in the sink. As she stood in front of the faucet, she seemed to consider something. "Will you still come? I really want you to come…never mind the bad stuff that happened back then," she said softly.

Peter nodded. "I'll definitely be there…I've got something I need to do while I'm around, anyway."

"Oh? What's that?" inquired Alex.

"You'll see when the time comes. All I'll say for now is, it's something I've been aching to do for _ages."_ Peter turned and walked toward the door. "See you tomorrow, sis." And a moment later he, too, was gone.

Sighing as she heard the door shut, Alex put the glass into the sink…and only then did she start to wonder just what it was that Peter intended to do at the get-together.

OOOOO

Jay lay on his bed, hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. Normally he'd spend his Saturdays doing absolutely nothing, but after the conversation he'd had with his mother the previous evening, he found that he was doing a lot of something now: thinking. And he'd been doing it all day, from breakfast to the present moment.

_Even the slightest action we take has consequences, both immediate and long-term._

_People don't forget, or forgive, the wrongs they've suffered that easily._

_It is not a sign of weakness to apologize when you have done something wrong._

The sound of the door opening broke his train of thought, even as a moment later Barry came into the room with a book in one hand. "Oh, you're in here still?" Barry sounded surprised. "Have you even come out of here since this morning?"

"If you must know, then no," Jay replied, casting a glance at his brother.

"Hmm. Well, try not to let the cobwebs grow on you," said Barry. "I've got a date with Daphne tonight, so at least I'll be active in some capacity."

"And you were doing, what exactly, all day before now?" Jay asked.

"Reading." Barry held up the book he had in his hand. _"Robinson Crusoe. _Pretty good reading, actually. You should try it sometime."

"Uh-huh," Jay said dismissively.

Shrugging, Barry crossed over to his side of the room, set the book on a shelf, and then sat down at his nearby computer table. Watching him a moment, Jay contemplated what next to say. "I've got a question for you, Barry," he said.

"Yeah?" Barry replied, not turning around.

"Uh…" Jay hesitated. "Okay, I honestly don't know how else to ask this. Are you holding any grudge against me from high school days?"

Barry blinked. "Uh…come again?" he asked, turning to look at his twin.

"Dude, you heard what I said. Are you holding a grudge or not?" Jay insisted.

Barry stared at Jay for a moment. "Okay…suddenly this is a little weird…who are you and what have you done with Jay?"

"_Oy vey,_ Barry—I'm trying to have a legitimate conversation here! Work with me, would you?" Jay demanded, jumping up.

Barry frowned as he considered the matter. "Hmm…all right. Let's pretend you really aren't trying to mess with my head." He stood up from his desk, so he was now on eye-level with Jay. "You want to know the whole truth? Okay—I admit that for quite a long time during the early years of high school, I used to be pretty angry that my own brother was the same person as the high school bully I had to contend with. But after a while, I figured, hey, if I could survive being browbeaten by you once a day, Monday to Friday, and plenty more times on the weekend, then I could surely survive anything, right? And even nowadays, where you continue to look down on my interests just because I'm not as physical as you, I just let it all roll off my back. And do you know how I do it?"

"No, I don't. Enlighten me." Jay cocked a curious eyebrow.

Now Barry smirked a little. "I keep reminding myself that a bully will always be remembered for what he is, and that one day, maybe not in the immediate future, but _sometime_ down the road, he'll have to reap the consequences of his actions, and then those who he picked on and tormented will be given due justice."

"…like with the threatening e-mails this serial killer person has been sending out to potential victims?" Jay remarked.

The smirk disappeared from Barry's face. A long moment passed…and then he sighed. "You know how complex it is that I can dislike how you've treated me and continue to treat me, yet I don't want to see any serious harm come to you individually?" he asked softly. "Tell me, Jay, how do I resolve those two views?"

"Maybe I can simplify it for you," Jay suggested. "How about we at least try to have a better relationship than we did before? I mean, it's probably a little late to suggest it…"

"It's not a _little_ late, Jay—it's a _lot_ late," Barry interrupted him. "And anyway, what's your real motive for the suggestion? Are you putting it forward because you really mean it from here," and he put a hand over his chest for emphasis, "or is the fact that you got a death threat in your e-mail scaring you into trying to make amends before you possibly kick the bucket?"

Jay sighed. "I was just following a suggestion Mom gave me. It seemed like a good idea after I thought about it."

"Oh. So if Mom hadn't prompted you, you wouldn't have thought about it." Barry shook his head and turned away from Jay.

"Look, what do you _want_ from me, Barry? I'm trying to mend fences here—can't you give me some credit for the effort?" Jay asked, exasperated.

"What do I want?" Barry spun around to face Jay again. "What I want, Jay, is for you to quit justifying your alpha-male attitude and face up to the things you've done. And not just to me, either—I know I wasn't your only target during high school. How many of our old classmates do you think will actually be happy to see you if you show your face at the get-together tomorrow evening—not counting those who adored you because you were a sports king? Tell me honestly—how many?"

"Ugh!" Jay slapped a palm against his forehead in frustration, even as he let himself fall back on his bed. "All right, fine. So I'm a jerk because I pushed around a couple of kids for being easy targets. Now I try to make amends with my own brother, and I'm still a jerk. C'mon, it happened already, it was ages ago, so isn't it enough for me to try to make peace now?"

"People don't forget the wrongs that are done to them just like that, Jay," Barry said with reproof in his tone.

Jay made a face at that. "Same thing Mom said," he recounted. "Then what's the point of making amends when you do something wrong?"

"Oh, there's a point to it—the question's whether you're sincere about it or if you're just trying to put on a good show to make yourself feel better." Barry eyed Jay. "Which is it for you, Jay?"

Jay looked off to one side and didn't answer.

Sighing, Barry sat back down at his computer desk again. "Look…if you're going to apologize for something you've done, you have to mean it. People can generally see insincerity from a mile away, especially when it concerns somebody telling them sorry for something that was done to them," he said. "But if you show that you really are sorry, it'll go a long way."

"Hmm." Jay frowned. "So…what about us, me and you? Are we good?"

Barry sighed again. "In all honesty, I can't answer that now. Maybe as time goes by…maybe things will get better eventually. For now, though, I need to get used to the idea of you not slinging verbal mud at me every few minutes." And he turned back to his computer.

Now it was Jay's turn to sigh. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he muttered in a tone he hoped was low enough that Barry didn't hear.

OOOOO

The large newspaper office building loomed in the heart of downtown Central City, with the words _**Central City Chronicle**_ emblazoned in bright gold letters above its main entrance. This was the headquarters of the city's primary newspaper, which in its heyday sold hundreds of hard-copy newspapers and newsletters, but as time went by and technology became more sophisticated, it became necessary for the company to do as other newspapers across the nation were doing and go electronic with its archives.

Now, in 2055, the _Chronicle_ had an equal balance of broadcasting its written news online and in print, and its reputation for reporting factual information kept both sections of the readership among the local populace and the outside community coming back again and again. Oh, so maybe it wasn't as famous as Metropolis's _Daily Planet,_ considering that that city was home to the greatest superhero the world had ever known, but the people of Central City would always maintain that the _Chronicle _was THEIR paper and that they would always back it no matter what, thank you very much.

As Valerie Powell passed under the big gold letters to enter the building, she glanced at her watch. 6:10 p.m. _Just another hour and a half before I have to cover that function with Stone Industries,_ she thought to herself. _Good thing I spent the day sleeping…this is bound to be an all-night thing, if they've got the bigwigs coming in their fancy suits and pearls…_

Only a few minutes later, she was riding the elevator to go to the third floor where the editorial department, and by extension her cubicle, was situated. Emerging into the office, she quickly crossed the floor to reach her desk and sat down—and saw a post-it note pasted on her computer screen. "Coverage request for Central City High School graduation class of 2051's alumni get-together party tomorrow evening at 7:00 p.m., at the school's main auditorium," she read. "Huh. Lucky me."

She'd heard the recent news about the members of the Central City High class of '51 who'd wound up knifed to death by a mysterious serial killer, just as everyone else had, of course. Quite evidently, though, these murders weren't enough to prevent the party from taking place. Valerie had had to do a human-interest piece on the family of the first victim, Evan Walters, and how they were dealing with their grief at losing their relative; for a moment she wondered how they, and the relatives of the other deceased former students, were reacting to the idea that the party was still going to continue.

_Oh, well…maybe I'll see them and get their reactions at the get-together. I can make a nice little human interest piece out of this assignment, for sure. _She leaned back in her seat and stretched. _Of course, first I have to get tonight's function out of the way…a reporter's work is truly never done!_

OOOOO

The night wore on.

Rag Doll was again in his private room, taking full inventory of his knives. He'd only now realized just how many of them he'd lost at Alex's apartment during his fight with the Flash, and no doubt the police would have many of those at their crime lab to check for any usable evidence in their bid to identify and locate him. Well, no matter—even if the police could get any DNA evidence from even one of the knives to confirm his role in the five previous murders, it still wouldn't bring them any closer to catching him. And besides, he still had a whole array of spare knives to equip himself with, including a second hunting knife to use in place of the one he'd lost at Alex's place.

He glanced at the clock. 11:25 p.m., now. Just another few hours until the appointed time for the class of 2051 to have its get-together at Central City High. And considering all five of his victims were members of that graduation group, he didn't think it would be too far-fetched that the remainder of that batch of students would be on edge.

Most especially Jay West, he reasoned. Perhaps that punk would get his daddy to provide a police escort for him to go to the party.

Well, Rag Doll didn't mind a challenge. Whether security was there or not, whether that security would consist of police or the usual school security, whether they'd be licensed to shoot him or restricted to trying to capture him non-lethally, it didn't matter to him—he'd still accomplish what he was setting out to do. Making an attack at the school during such a public function might go against the grain of singling out his target in privacy like he'd done so far, but doing it this way would get across a message that he was sure would stick: that judgment would never escape whoever deserved it.

Then, too, Rag Doll had several things working in his favor. Aside from the fear that was sure to be pulsing through the remaining portion of the class of '51, he'd also already taken some time to scope out the school premises, familiarize himself with any architectural changes that might have occurred since the last time he'd been there, and practice squeezing into every available nook and cranny throughout the building so he could hide himself effectively. He knew which vents led to where, which rooms had hollow floors and walls, and which ceiling rafters would give him the minimum adequate crawling space.

Central City High School was _his_ turf. It was where _he _had the field advantage. And he would utilize it as much as he needed to, in order to kill Jay West and anyone else who got in his way.

OOOOO

6:00, Sunday morning.

Detective Thaddeus Hunter's phone rang near his bed. Groaning as he awoke, he glanced at his watch through half-open eyes, then groggily reached over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" he mumbled sleepily.

"_Up and at 'em, kid,"_ Detective Frank Curtis's voice came into his ear. _"The tech guys just got a hit on two of the victims' computers that were taken for examination. We've got the locations where the threatening e-mails were sent from."_

Hunter blinked, the fog of sleep immediately fading from his brain. "Locations? Plural?" he asked.

"_Just as I said,"_ replied Curtis. _"I'll be over to pick you up in fifteen minutes."_

OOOOO

An hour later saw the two detectives in a computer lab at the precinct with the resident computer expert. "Sorry to bring you out of your beds so early on a Sunday morning, guys, but I figured you'd want to see this," the woman told them.

"You said there was more than one IP address?" Curtis inquired.

"Indeed," the tech answered. "Putting it simply, an IP address is attached to each computer terminal with internet access—sort of like an electronic P.O. box for computers. Out of the five threatening e-mails the victims got, we were able to trace and determine the IP addresses for the machines that sent two of those messages."

"And if we have those IP addresses, we can find where those particular machines are physically," Hunter remarked with a small smile.

"Ah, the wonders of modern technology," said Curtis. _"Can_ you trace the physical addresses from the IP addresses?"

"Already done," the tech said with a bright grin. "And as luck would have it…they might be two different computers, but they're both in the same location…" Here she typed in some information on her computer, and a moment later the result showed up on the screen.

Hunter looked at the screen and frowned. "Central City High School?"

"Well, this shows that somebody connected to the school sent those threats," said Curtis. "How long before you can determine the source for the other three messages?"

"We're still working on it," said the tech.

"Fine then, let us know when you get a breakthrough. Thanks for this heads-up," said Hunter, and he and Curtis now turned and left the lab.

"So what now? We know where the messages came from, but not who sent them," commented Curtis. "And we can't just go to the school and ask them now—today's Sunday anyway, so they'll be closed."

"Hmm…maybe not," Hunter replied after some thought. "The class of '51's alumni get-together is this evening at 7:00. How do you feel about attending a high school reunion right about now?" he added with a smirk.

Curtis smirked back. "I say, let's hope they don't have any cheesy dance music."

OOOOO

"Okay, why'd they have to stipulate it as a suit-and-tie affair?" Jay grumbled.

He and Barry had had to spend most of the day preparing their outfits for the party later in the evening, and now they were getting ready even as the clock ticked off 4:45 p.m. "Deal with it, Jay," Barry said firmly, carefully lacing his red bowtie. "It's an evening of elegance, just like the invitations said, and we should at least look our best."

"I'd rather have a sloppy-looking burger with fries any day than have to watch my Ps and Qs with genteel table manners every second," Jay grunted. "Don't confuse your dinner fork with your dessert fork, keep your elbows off the table, chew your food slowly, don't slurp your soup…blech!"

"Having good manners will get you a far way in life," Barry told him. "It won't kill you to stop thinking like a jock for a couple of hours and just act like a gentleman for a change. And it's not like it's the first time you've done it, anyway."

"Yeah, I know—every time Mom and Dad took us to all those high-society functions or those awards ceremonies where Dad was being honored, we had to dress up," Jay recalled ruefully. "I just feel so restricted in this," pointing to the grey suit he now wore even as he reluctantly slipped on his matching jacket.

Just then there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," said Barry, hurrying outside to answer the knock.

Shaking his head as he watched Barry's departure, Jay fingered his chest. _This suit feels hot enough as it is…and to add to that, I'm wearing my OTHER suit under this…good thing I was able to sew up the tears Rag Doll made in the costume's chest, at least. If the Flash will be required to make an entrance, then I might as well make sure the costume's in good condition…_

"Holy WOW!" he heard Barry exclaim outside. "Daphne, you look…!"

"You like?" he heard Daphne reply with a giggle.

Scoffing, Jay went to the living room entrance—and stopped cold. "Whoa."

Standing just inside the front door was Daphne Dean, her hair done back in a neat bun but with a single strand of hair overshadowing her brow, while a strapless knee-length green dress adorned her body, complemented by a pair of green open-toed shoes. Nearby, Barry was looking at her with awe, blinking very fast. "Wow, Daph…you'll knock 'em dead for sure!" the red-haired youth declared.

"Why, thank you, _dah-_ling," cooed Daphne, aping a Russian accent as she lightly caressed Barry under his chin with her fingertips. Then she beheld Jay's reaction. "Okay, Fido, you can close your trap now," she advised him in her normal tone.

Realizing he'd gotten slack-jawed at Daphne's appearance, Jay quickly closed his mouth. "Well…when you go all-out, you go all-out," he told her. "Barry's lucky to have you as his date."

"Naturally," Daphne smirked. "Don't feel so alone, though, Jay, you're bound to find some girl who remembers your charm from high school days at the get-together. Tell me, Barry, want to make a bet?"

"Huh? A bet? On what?" asked Barry.

Daphne gave a sly grin. "That Jay will get slapped or get a drink thrown in his face, oh, I don't know—ten times, at least, during the course of tonight?"

"Hey! I wasn't _that_ bad a boyfriend!" Jay snapped.

"C'mon, Daphne, be fair to my brother," said Barry. Then he chuckled. "I say three times. That's not so harsh."

"Loser types the winner's Literature paper that's due this Thursday in addition to their own?" suggested Daphne.

"You're on!" said Barry. "Okay, Jay, don't let me down now!"

"…you both hate me, don't you?" Jay asked flatly.

OOOOO

A little while later, Jay's car pulled up outside the school, and he alighted from the driver's side and opened the door for Barry and Daphne, who were in the back seat. "You have arrived, sir and madam," he said sarcastically.

"Why, thank you, Jeeves," said Daphne, stepping out. "And…hey, whose limo is that?"

They watched as a big black limousine pulled up some distance away. Then the driver hopped out, went to open the back seat…and out stepped Maxwell and Laura West, he in a white tuxedo with a red flower pinned to his jacket and she in a yellow spaghetti-strap dress with a matching silk shoulder-covering and strapped high-heeled sandals on her feet. "Look at that…" Barry smiled. "Mom and Dad being as fashionably early as ever."

The older couple now walked toward the young adults. "Hi, Dad; hi, Mom," Barry greeted them. "You're early."

"As are you, and I'm sure a number of others," Maxwell remarked. "And…" His gaze fell on Daphne. "Whose date are you, miss?"

"Oh, you remember Daphne, Daphne Dean," Barry introduced her.

"Really? Daphne? You've really gotten bigger since we last saw you!" Laura promptly stepped forward. "Come here, sweetheart!" and she caught Daphne in a small but affectionate embrace.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. West," Daphne smiled. "You too, Mr. West," she addressed the commissioner, offering her hand.

"Of course," Maxwell answered, shaking her hand. "Barry talks about you ever so often. You really should stop by sometime; we were always your second home when you were growing up with Barry and Jay."

"So, uh, Dad…seeing as you're here, I guess there's gonna be a pretty decent police presence here too?" asked Jay.

"No more than is really necessary," Maxwell answered. "There'll be a detachment of officers here to provide extra security in case—" He winced as Laura suddenly elbowed him in the ribs. "Er, well, just to make sure things run smoothly. You know how young people's parties can get out of hand sometimes."

"Guys, it's okay, really…we know what he means," Barry spoke up.

"Well, that might be so, but I for one would rather not have to fret about masked psychopaths just today," said Laura. "I just want to be able to have a good time with my husband, my sons, and my possibly future daughter-in-law."

"Oh! Um…thank you," said Daphne, blushing a little.

Jay eyed his father. "Say, Barry, why don't you take Mom and Daphne inside and secure some tables for us? Dad and I will be inside in a few," he said.

"Uh…okay, sure," said Barry. "Ladies?" and here he offered his arms to his mother and girlfriend.

"Such a gentleman…I know I raised _one_ of you right," Laura smiled now as she locked an arm with one of Barry's.

"You certainly did," agreed Daphne, taking Barry's other arm. "Lead the way!"

The trio headed toward the front steps of the entrance, leaving Jay and Maxwell behind. Maxwell watched them go, then turned to his son. "I take it you still want to discuss…?" he began.

"Just curious to find out if the police have any new leads in this case," said Jay. "Don't forget, this psychopath made a threat against me, too. I want to be able to have my eyes and ears open for anything."

"Well, you've got good instincts about you," said Maxwell. "Actually, I did in fact get an update from the detectives working this case. Two of the messages that were sent to your classmates were sent from computers here at the school…so whoever's behind all this must be somebody connected to here."

"Somebody connected to here, huh?" Jay frowned. "Hmm…"

"What?" asked Maxwell.

Jay frowned more deeply, then decided to come clean. "I don't want to accuse him too early, but…"

"You suspect someone? Who?" asked Maxwell.

"There was this guy in our graduating class…Peter Merkel," explained Jay. "I remembered it pretty recently—he was a real oddball and a loner back in high school, and…two of the guys who were killed, they picked on him a lot. The two girls who died, they'd turned him down for dates, and the other guy, he and Peter had an argument once. And…I didn't make his life all that easy, myself."

He refrained from mentioning Peter's triple-jointed-ness.

"I see," Maxwell said, looking thoughtful.

"It's just a hunch, though; I don't have any real evidence to say it's actually him," said Jay. "You're not going to arrest him, are you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," answered Maxwell. "I would advise you, though, that if you see him here, try and engage him in conversation—find out his reaction to your classmates' killings. Depending on how he responds, you may at least have some grounds for the police to bring him in for questioning."

_I already know how he feels about that…it's just that I asked him as the Flash,_ Jay thought to himself. _I wonder how vocal he'll be if I ask him as just me…_ Aloud he said, "I'll try, but I don't expect a very warm reception from him."

"Just do what you can, son," said Maxwell. "Anyway, let's not stick around out here any longer. Let's see what the party looks like, eh?"

They headed for the front entrance, and once inside they were greeted by a young woman in a knee-length gold-colored dress, holding a clip-board and a pen. Jay's brow furrowed at the sight of the woman. "Alex Merkel," he hailed her.

Alex glanced up. "Oh…Jay West," she addressed him. "And your father, the Commissioner. Hello, sir," she spoke to Maxwell. "Barry and the others already headed inside to the auditorium. You remember where the auditorium is, right, Jay?"

"Yeah, I remember where it is. How many others are here already? It's kind of early," remarked Jay.

Alex checked her clip-board. "Thirty-two other members of our graduating class, plus their guests, and also other attendants," she reported to him. "And I'll just tell you right off the bat, Jay, half of this number will be quite glad to see you here, and the other half wants to have _words_ with you."

Jay cocked an eyebrow at her. "Should I assume you and your brother are in the second group?"

"I can't speak for Peter…although I'm pretty sure he won't be happy to see you, after how you used to treat him back in the day." Alex shook her head. "As for myself…I won't pretty it up, Jay, even for your dad's sake. You were a really rotten guy back then, and I despised the ground you walked on for what you did to Peter. Now…I guess I'll just have to watch and see if you're still the same callous bully from the past, or if time has somehow allowed you to grow a conscience."

"Oh. Well…guess you'll just have to watch and see, then," Jay shrugged and walked off. "Catch you later, Alex."

Eyeing Alex briefly, Maxwell hurried to catch up with his son. "That girl is Peter Merkel's sister, right? If _that_ reception was any indication, he definitely might have it out for you," he whispered.

"And in his eyes, I'd likely deserve it," Jay added softly. "Well, here we are now."

They stood just outside the open entrance to the school's main auditorium—and on the inside, there were several tables and chairs arranged in orderly fashion, with a huge buffet table set over by one of the walls and with servers behind said table, arranging the food items. There were several guests milling around or sitting at different tables, either in pairs or larger groups, all elegantly dressed according to the required dress code as stipulated in the party invitations; some of these saw Jay entering and loudly hailed him or otherwise waved to him. "Hey, Jay, old pal, long time no see! It's been years!" one such guest, a large-bodied man in glasses, bellowed jovially as he stood up from the table where he'd been seated with his date.

"Chester? Is that you?" Jay's eyes lit up. "Hey, yeah, it IS you, Chunk! Show me some love, bro!"

"Took the words out of my mouth, Fleet-Foot!" Chester laughed, even as Jay and Maxwell came over, and shook hands with the former. "Say, you remember Connie, don't you?" he indicated his date.

"Hey, Jay; it's been a long time," Connie smiled brightly. "And this is…?" eyeing Maxwell.

"Oh—my dad, the police commissioner for Central City, Maxwell West," Jay introduced him. "Dad, this is Chester Runk and Connie Noleski—he used to be on the football team, and she was one of our basketball cheerleaders. Last I'd heard of them, they were all the way over in Grandview City."

"That's right," said Connie. "Only, now it's Mr. and Mrs. Chester Runk," and here she put an affectionate arm around Chester's waist. "We've been married the past two years now."

"No way." Jay was astonished. "Hey, Chunk, what did you do to convince Connie to marry you?"

"Ha, ha!" Chester laughed aloud. "Trade secret, Jay!"

Maxwell nodded. "You know, I have to say this as police commissioner…you're taking this whole evening in stride, Mr. Runk," he remarked.

"Oh, you mean with the whacko murders that have happened?" Chester asked, his tone low and some of his joviality disappearing. "Yeah, it's a real shame what happened to those five…but Connie and I decided we weren't going to be intimidated out of coming, even if anybody else was!"

"We didn't get any threatening messages, so we're technically in the clear…but as I told Chet, even if we had gotten anything like that, we'd still come to this get-together," said Connie. "No crazy serial killer is going to decide for us what we can or can't do with our lives."

"Huh. I see," said Maxwell. "Well, I laud your bravery, both of you. And I strongly suspect that others here feel much the same as you do…"

"That they do, we're sure of that," affirmed Chester.

"Okay, well, in that case, you guys enjoy the party!" Jay said brightly. "Come on, Dad, I think I see Mom and the others over there. Let's not keep them waiting!"

OOOOO

Nobody seemed to be aware of one of the lighting panels on the ceiling shifting ever so slightly…and a malevolent eye peered out, watching as Jay and Maxwell walked across the floor of the auditorium to join their relatives at the round table where they'd elected to sit nearby the band hired to provide the evening's music. The eye's gaze narrowed as it focused especially on Jay…and then the lighting panel was again slightly shifted to fit back in its proper place.

_In a little while, Jay West…in a little while…_

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 10**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—while Valerie Powell makes her appearance at the party for reporter duty and Detectives Hunter and Curtis lurk outside the building on security duty, Jay has a confrontation with Peter Merkel—followed not too long after by Rag Doll crashing the event! Mayhem ensues as the Flash and Rag Doll have their rematch even while the villain actively seeks Jay's life and the lives of whoever will oppose him! Next chapter—_Unmasked!_

(Character commentary: in the comics, Chester "Chunk" Runk and Connie Noleski were friends of Wally West, who later became a couple after Wally's relationship with Connie fell through—this was long before Wally would eventually marry his best-known love interest, Linda Park.)


	11. Unmasked

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 11: Unmasked**

"Wow, the menu looks good for this evening's event," Daphne Dean remarked as she examined the place-holder card that was on the table in front of her. Seated together with Jay and Barry West and their parents, she—together with all the other guests at the class of 2051's alumni get-together—was following the evening's itinerary and, like those around her, exchanging banter back and forth with her tablemates. "Soup and rolls to be served…then at the appointed time we'll join the buffet line and get the main course from there."

"The band music is pretty nice, too," Laura West added.

"They sure are—who'd have thought old tunes could sound so nice in this environment?" Barry grinned.

Jay looked at his card. "Pumpkin soup with potato cream sauce," he read. "At least we have a choice with the main course items."

Maxwell West glanced toward the main platform, set up on one side of the room. "Look, our organizer is going to speak," he commented.

OOOOO

As Alexandra Merkel made her way onto the stage and toward the podium, she sent out a quick glance at the audience. _Where are you, Peter? You said you'd be here…_

"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening," she spoke into the microphone, directing everyone's attention her way. "Thank you all for coming to this get-together for the Central City High School graduating class of 2051. To all the past students and your guests who are here, again, welcome."

She took a deep breath before continuing. "Now, I'd love to say that this is a totally joyous time…but if I said that, that would be denying certain realities that have taken place in recent weeks. As I'm sure we're all aware, five of our own—Evan Walters, Ira Ottey, Julia Xavier, Sheila Hanna, and Morton Young—have been senselessly murdered. And I must say that, unfortunately, as far as we know the killer has not been caught yet."

There was some loud whispering among the guests and grim looks on some faces as the news sank in.

"Even so, we're truly grateful that, in spite of these tragedies, you all still saw it fit to come and attend this event," Alex went on. "And now, as a tribute, I'd like to ask that we all observe a moment of silence for our lost former schoolmates. Beginning…now."

There was silence in the room. Even the musicians were still.

"Thank you," said Alex, breaking the silence. "Now…we have with us tonight a few relatives of the deceased," and now she indicated a table near the stage, where several guests were seated together. "I'd like to welcome all of you, and to thank you for coming to join us here at our get-together during what I can appreciate is a difficult time for all of you. At this time, I'd like to invite the mother of Ira Ottey to come up and say a few words, on behalf of the relatives…"

OOOOO

Valerie Powell, sitting by herself with a place-holder marked "PRESS" on top of her table, privately gave thanks that the sound system in the auditorium was loud enough to carry over to where she was, so she could simply place her digital tape recorder on the table and let it record whatever was being said while she stayed right where she was and snapped photos of the proceedings. Of course, her editor would require some social shots for the society pages, too, so she would have to get up and rove about the other tables, discreetly snapping shots of the guests while keeping out of their faces herself as much as possible. For now, though, this shot of Mrs. Ottey going up on the stage was a good enough one, and good for the human interest piece she'd get later.

"Our family, and also the families of the other victims, are in deep mourning at this time, for sure," Mrs. Ottey was saying, "and even now we still question why our Ira had to be taken from us in such a manner, not to mention the other four young people who lost their lives. But Ms. Merkel asked us, the relatives, to come to this evening's gathering nonetheless, and I won't lie to you, at first I thought it was tasteless to still hold this get-together in light of what we've been through. But the truth is, people die every day and are mourned, but the rest of the world continues living anyway.

"So as we are here, we who were friends and relatives to Ira, Evan, Sheila, Julia and Morton, let us not focus on how they died…but let us focus on the happy memories they left with us, and live our own lives as they would want us to do. We may mourn that they are not with us anymore, but as long as we have them here," and the woman put a hand over her chest, "they will never be truly dead. They will continue to live, through all of us—our memories of them, and the lessons they left for us to learn and contemplate. So as we take part in this assembly for the graduating class of 2051 for Central City High, let us not spend forever in sadness…but press on in hope that one day, someday soon, we will see them again, and for now live our own lives to the fullest, the way they would have for themselves and for us."

As the other bereaved relatives nodded in approval and the other guests engaged in applause, Valerie shut off her tape recorder. She would have to talk to Mrs. Ottey and arrange one-on-one interviews with the relatives of the other dead students, as well do a further in-depth talk with Mrs. Ottey herself about the late Ira, but for now this would be sufficient at least as padding for the general story of the class reunion assembly.

OOOOO

Outside in their car, Detectives Frank Curtis and Thaddeus Hunter sipped at cups of coffee and munched on Danish rolls and sandwiches. Nearby, uniformed police officers were walking about on patrol, keeping a sharp eye out for any unwelcome intruders that might lurk about. "I still don't see why we have to stay out here with the beat cops as security detail," grumbled Hunter. "If that killer wants to come here to kill anybody, don't you think he won't try to find a way past the obvious police guard and get inside? We should be inside doing actual bodyguard duty."

"We're out here and not in there because the commissioner told us to stay out here, that's why," replied Curtis. "He'll be sitting with his family, and _he's_ not going to let some guy with a bunch of knives anywhere near his kids. Or don't you know about that one operation he commanded last year, where he personally led the bodyguard for the crown witness in the Margolin murder case?"

"You mean that case where he held off ten gunmen by himself while the rest of his team was pinned down or injured?" asked Hunter.

"No, no, no, you're thinking of the Keenan case," Curtis corrected him. "I'm talking about the one where the defendants sent their buddies to blow up the witness's assigned transport vehicle on the day he was to testify. Commissioner West managed to get the witness safely to the courthouse despite all that; the perps got plenty of jail time for attempted murder and attempting to pervert the course of justice. Our commish, he's not going to let any criminal get the drop on him as long as he's got the post to defend."

At this point Curtis looked out of his window and beheld several persons arriving in the parking lot, being examined by the officers and then allowed inside. "Anyway, we've got it covered out here," he told his junior partner. "The commissioner handpicked these guys himself, plus putting you and me out here as extra back-up with them. With us out here and the big man himself inside, how's this killer going to get anywhere inside to kill anybody?"

Hunter scowled at Curtis. "How about, the same way Morton Young was killed despite there being a police presence right outside his house? Or the same way the other four were killed despite their doors and windows being locked?" he asked. "For all we know, the perp might have already come here way ahead of time and hidden himself to wait for the right time to strike. We should be inside, searching for him, not sitting out here munching on sweets and sandwiches!"

"And create a panic? As in, the very thing Commissioner West wants to avoid?" Curtis asked. "Look, if the guy is inside already, the commish will handle it. He's not the top cop of Central City for nothing, you know."

Hunter reluctantly leaned back in his seat and sipped at his coffee again. "Let's hope you're right, for everyone's sakes here," he grunted.

OOOOO

"Mmm…this is some good soup," Maxwell declared as he carefully wiped his lip with the edge of his spoon.

"Eh, it's all right," Jay shrugged, slurping a little from his spoon—and earning a rebuking look from his mother.

Barry was in the process of buttering a roll, when a movement at the auditorium entrance caught his eye. "Hey, look, we've got more arrivals," he told the others.

They all turned to look as the latecomers were greeted and ushered to various tables by the hired servers. But then Jay's eyes narrowed a little as one particular newcomer was greeted and ushered to a seat by Alex herself. _Peter Merkel…_

Maxwell caught his son's expression. "What's up, Jay?"

"That guy Alex just greeted personally…that's Peter Merkel, the guy I was telling you about," Jay explained.

Daphne craned her neck to see. "Oh, yes, that's Peter all right…he's definitely put some flesh on his bones since high school. Last I remember of him, he was as skinny as a rake…"

"Is there something special about that young man?" Laura asked innocently.

"Oh, he had this special ability back during high school days, Mom…he could bend himself at all sorts of different angles," said Barry. "He was multi-jointed. He could bend his elbows, knees, and various parts of himself at some really crazy angles."

"Sounds like a very flexible man," Laura remarked. "Jay, stop slurping your soup!"

"Sorry," Jay mumbled, but not once did his gaze leave Peter's table.

OOOOO

Detective Curtis eased his seat back so he could be in a reclining position. "Okay…7:25 p.m.," he remarked, looking at his watch. "Nothing happening so far since the party time began…maybe we'll get lucky and the killer isn't here or doesn't bother to show up after all."

"You can only wish," grunted Detective Hunter, his eyes scanning the surrounding area, not missing a single movement. "Don't bother sleeping now, partner. The night's not old yet."

OOOOO

"All right! Time to dig in to the main course—buffet style!" Jay grinned, picking up a plate and joining the queue at the serving table.

Next to him in line, Chester Runk grinned. "Still passing yourself off as a big eater, West?" he asked.

"Hey, I could always out-eat you, Chunk!" Jay smirked.

"Really? Remember what happened that time when you boasted about how you could eat a double-cheeseburger with every imaginable filling?" Chester chuckled.

"Hey, how was I supposed to know it was gonna cause a school-wide incident?" Jay asked defensively.

"Excuse me—Jay West? Do you remember me?"

Looking to one side, Jay beheld a young dark-haired woman approaching him, a glass of water in her hand. "Uh, yeah, that's me…but I'm afraid your face isn't really ringing a bell right now," he confessed. "Can you remind me, please?"

"All right. I'm the girl you promised to take to the prom during junior year—but you told me at the last minute that you had a family emergency, only to show up at the dance that night with a different girl." The woman promptly flung her whole glass of water into his face, startling everyone in close proximity. "I hope you enjoyed that night as much as I _didn't!"_ she spat, before stomping off.

"Ouch, dude," Chester mumbled sympathetically, picking up a napkin from the table and offering it to Jay.

Just a little bit behind them, Barry and Daphne were waiting their turn with their own plates. "That's the first one," Barry noted.

"My homework awaits you, Barry," Daphne chuckled.

OOOOO

Shortly behind the former students, Valerie was calmly waiting with her own plate, close to Maxwell. "Commissioner West," she addressed him.

"Hmm? Ah, you look familiar, young lady…oh, yes, the reporter from the _Chronicle,"_ said Maxwell. "So the newspaper sent you to cover this event, did they?"

"Yes, sir," Valerie acknowledged, "and I intend to get as much out of it as I can."

"I see…and how many stories do you think you can get out of this little get-together?" Maxwell wanted to know.

"I've already done a piece on how the family of Evan Walters is coping, prior to tonight, but I'd like to have a brief interview with the other families if possible," said Valerie. "Then, of course, I'd like to have an interview with you after dinner, on the progress of the investigation into these killings…"

"Well, I can certainly oblige you, but are you so certain the other families will be as permissive?" asked Maxwell.

"I won't know until I try, sir," said Valerie. "Of course, I promise I won't do anything on your son getting splashed just now."

"That _was_ rather unexpected," Maxwell muttered.

"_Jay West!"_

Their attention was grabbed by the sudden shout, and as they looked to see where it had come from, they beheld a man walking up to Jay's place in the line. "Peter Merkel," Maxwell frowned. "First Jay gets water thrown on him—now what?"

OOOOO

Jay paused in cleaning the water from his face with his napkin and looked directly at the approaching Peter even as, from behind the latter, Alex came running up. "Peter, please, don't cause a scene!" Alex begged.

"Back out of this, sis; it's long overdue that this guy got what was coming to him," Peter said heatedly. Then he turned his attention back to Jay. "So, hotshot, remember me? Peter Merkel? The same guy whose life you used to make a misery back in the day?"

Jay sighed. "Yes, Merkel, I remember, I and a couple of the guys used to pick on you a lot."

"Oh, so glad to see you've still got a good memory behind that thick head of yours." Peter glared at him. "So? Got anything you want to say to me about those times?"

"Uh, fellows, I don't think this is the venue for this kind of thing…" Chester tried to interject.

"No, no, Chet, it's cool." Jay put up a hand to dissuade his larger friend, then turned back to Peter. "Look, Merkel, what do you want me to say or do? I just acknowledged I gave you grief back then—but that was years ago. I don't think anything I can do or say now is going to make a single bit of difference. It's over, it's done, it's gone. Deal with it."

"It will never be over—not with what you and your five dead friends made me endure all those years! The least you could do is to show a little remorse!" Peter said angrily.

"Peter! Stop it!" Alex grabbed her brother's arm. "Jay just admitted he was a bully to you, and in front of everybody here too. Isn't that enough?"

"With a _dreg_ like him? Not likely." Peter shrugged off Alex's hands and reached forward to grab Jay's still-wet shirt, startling those looking on. "You've got two choices, West—either you and I step outside to the hallway right now, or you get down on your knees right here like the spineless dog you are and beg me to forgive you for all that you, and Walters, and Ottey, and Young, and Hanna, and Xavier—everything you and those five rejects of humanity ever did to humiliate me!"

"Hey, hey, hey, Peter! That's going too far, man—at least show a little due to the dead!" Barry cried, running forward and trying to pry in between the two.

"Since when do parasites get advocates?" Peter barked at him.

"Merkel…I've tried to be civil, at least for your sister's sake, but if you don't let go of my shirt right now, I'll bend you in ways you never even _knew_ you could bend." Jay gritted his teeth as he spoke.

"Why not try it, jock? I'm not the same passive kid you used to mock in the hallways anymore," Peter snarled.

"THAT WILL BE ENOUGH OF THAT." A rough hand grabbed Peter's and wrenched off his grip on Jay, even as Maxwell glared down at the younger man, in full police commissioner mode. "I understand you're angry at my son for his past behavior, but right now I think you've overstayed your welcome. And I'm sure the relatives of the five deceased members of your graduating class will agree with me."

Peter looked around at the mixture of stunned and confused expressions on the servers' and band members' faces, deeply offended anger in the bereaved relatives' expression, and dismay and outrage on the faces of the other guests. Then he glared, unflinching, into Maxwell's face even as he shook his hand free of the older man's grip. "Sure, come defend your rotten apple of a son. I can tell when the truth's not wanted around here." He turned his glare on the dead students' relatives. "You think your kids were saints? Just ask anybody here who got bullied or rejected by them—they'll tell you the truth!"

"Leave. **Now."** Maxwell's tone brooked no room for argument.

Glaring again at the top cop, Peter turned and hurried out of the auditorium. Alex watched him go, even as her face turned red from embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," she whispered to nobody in particular. "I tried to stop him…"

A gentle hand rested on her arm; turning, she found herself looking into Laura's motherly eyes. "No-one is blaming you, dear…at least, I know I'm not," she said quietly. "Listen, why don't you join us at our table? Even if anybody else turns you away after what just happened, I won't."

Too shaken to say anything else, Alex just nodded. Laura then turned to address her sons. "Jay, why don't you go clean yourself up…Barry, get an extra plate for Ms. Merkel and one for your brother."

"Okay, Mom. Daphne, lend a hand here, would you please?" said Barry.

Meantime, Maxwell gave Jay a concerned once-over. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Well, if getting water doused on me and getting my shirt rumpled is the worst that happens tonight, then yeah, I'll be okay," Jay assured his father. "At least I won't have to change my clothes…"

"Come on, then, maybe you should sit down a little while," Maxwell suggested. "Go sit with your mother. I'll help Barry and Daphne with the food."

Nodding, Jay walked over to where Laura and Alex were already sitting down. Seeing him approach, Alex blushed. "Jay, I'm…" she began.

"Don't stress, Alex—you already have enough to think about," Jay interrupted, sitting down. "Besides, all this shows is that your brother actually managed to grow a backbone since high school…" but he trailed off and winced as he saw his mother's searing glare.

"Remember what we talked about on Friday, Jay?" Laura asked pointedly.

"All right, all right. Point taken," Jay sighed. "Anyway, Alex, it's not like you set Peter on me—he chose to approach me on his own. You did the best you could."

Alex shook her head. "You might have been a jerk to him back in school, but even so, that can't excuse his actions just now. And what he said about the others, and in front of their grieving family members too, no matter how true it might have been…"

"I suppose some people never really learn to let go of the past," Laura said sagely.

"Like that girl who doused me with her water…and a lot of other people in this number, like you said before," Jay addressed Alex.

"Hopefully the remaining number won't come at you with torches and pitchforks," answered Alex.

By this time Maxwell, Barry and Daphne were arriving with two plates of food each. "We come bearing gifts," Barry cracked with a grin.

"Why, thank you, and it looks very good!" Laura smiled as Maxwell placed a plate in front of her.

A smile appeared on Alex's face as she beheld the fare in her plate. "Creamed potato salad, baked chicken, pasta salad, coleslaw…the catering staff has really earned their pay tonight!" she beamed.

"And best of all, the buffet line is still there for us to go back for seconds," Jay grinned.

"Now, now, son, let's not get greedy," Maxwell admonished him. "Others need their fair share, too, including the band members and the servers themselves."

"Listen to your daddy, greedy boy," Daphne advised Jay. "Just be glad for what you've got."

Shaking his head, Jay reached for his knife and fork…and paused as he noticed an unusually-shaped and ever-enlarging shadow on the white tablecloth. Puzzled, he glanced upward—and froze. "WHOA!"

Before his tablemates could react to his outburst, they all nearly jumped out of their skins as a bizarrely-dressed figure landed heavily on all fours in the very center of their table. He was clad in a yellow, white and black checker-styled shirt, loose black pants with black-and-white checker-style designs on the shins, and a red sash around the waist, and sported red hair and a white mask. "Mind if I drop in, folks?" he asked in a raspy voice, grinning psychotically.

Jay's eyes widened, even as he saw Alex turn pale at the sight of the new arrival. _Rag Doll!_

The other guests, startled at the sound of the intruder's appearance, now beheld his outlandish appearance. "What the…!" Chester, two tables away from Jay's group, sputtered involuntarily even as Connie, who was just preparing to sit down with her plate of food, stared slack-jawed in utter disbelief.

Rag Doll reached into his belt and whipped out two huge knives. Without warning, he spun around and prepared to leap at Jay—but all at once Maxwell shot both hands forward, grabbed the other man by the belt, and roughly flung him off the table and to the ground. Undaunted, Rag Doll swiftly rolled to his feet and bounded on top of another table, frightening that table's occupants. "Oh, did I interrupt your dinner? How rude of me," said the weird figure, replacing his knives into his belt. "Listen—everyone here not named Jay West can leave. I'm only here for _him,"_ and he pointed in Jay's direction and raked him with a murderous look.

One of the men at Rag Doll's new table picked up his plate of food and flung it at the miscreant. Rag Doll ducked in a full leg-split, though, and this had the effect of the plate sailing over his head even as the food it had contained spilled everywhere; in turn, he twisted his body like a corkscrew and sent a kick into his attacker's face, knocking him down and further frightening those in range, before himself settling into a stooping stance on the tabletop. "As I said, you can all leave except for Jay West…but if you choose to try and resist me, I can't guarantee your safety."

"Get him! He's just one guy!" several other males yelled at once, stampeding from their tables toward Rag Doll.

Alex snapped out of her shock. "NO! That's the serial killer!" she screamed—but her words came a moment too late as, with astonishing flexibility, Rag Doll flipped off the tabletop, balanced himself by his hands on top of one attacker's head, and spun once before stamping down on that man's shoulders, forcing the victim to the floor. He then spun crazily, twisting his limbs this way and that, and sent several punishing blows to his would-be captors' stomachs, necks and groins, causing them to fall in groaning heaps. A few others tried to pounce on him from behind and from the side, but to this he responded by balancing on one hand and spinning a full 360 degrees with his legs outstretched, kicking them and sending them sailing backwards to crash into nearby chairs and tables.

Now the other guests started to run out, screaming, followed seconds later by the servers and the band members. Those males who could still move after having been assaulted by Rag Doll, not wanting a second beating, turned and fled after the others. "Ah, now that's more like it," Rag Doll chuckled as he watched the guests' flight from the room.

"Stop right there!"

Maxwell reached into his jacket, pulled out his sidearm, and pointed the gun right at Rag Doll's head. "Jay, Barry, get the ladies out of here," he advised. "And _you,_ Mr. Psychopath, you do so much as breathe wrong and you're dead."

OOOOO

"Eh?" Hunter glanced up as the sight of terrified event-goers hurrying out of the school's front entrance greeted his eyes. "Hey, Curtis, look alive! Something's happened!" he cried, opening his car door and jumping out.

"Way ahead of you, kid!" Curtis shouted, already out of the car and running toward the chaos. To the nearby uniformed officers, he yelled, "Keep the folks in order! Don't let 'em trample each other! We'll help the commissioner inside!"

"I knew we should've gone in from before," Hunter muttered under his breath, readying his gun.

OOOOO

Valerie aimed her camera at the uninvited guest, taking picture after picture from where she'd positioned herself behind her table, even as the other guests around her hurried in a bid to get away. _This was certainly an unexpected event…let's see how it pans out!_ she thought excitedly to herself. _Let's just hope I don't get in harm's way again like when the Flash fought with that Trickster guy…_

OOOOO

Rag Doll smirked at Maxwell. "So you want to get in my way, Commissioner West?" he asked.

Maxwell kept his gun pointed right at the killer, not twitching even slightly. "You came here with the intention of killing my son. Do you honestly think I'm going to let you off just like that?" he asked in a dangerous tone of voice. "Now get on the ground and put your hands on top of your head. You're under arrest for the murders of—"

He was caught off-guard as Rag Doll dived to the floor and rolled in his direction. Immediately he shifted his gun to point it at the masked man again, but in turn Rag Doll rolled to one knee, reached into his belt with a grand flourish, pulled out a short-bladed knife, and flung it at the commissioner's trigger-finger. The blade sank into Maxwell's finger, causing him to cry out as he recoiled from the pain and dropped the gun, only to feel his head spin to one side as Rag Doll sent a smashing punch to his face.

"Two words: shorter sentences," Rag Doll deadpanned.

"Dad!" Barry cried, seeing his father crumpled on the ground in pain.

Jay's eyes narrowed. "Barry! Get Mom and the girls out of here, now!" he yelled, standing up. "Hey, freak! It's me you want, right? So come and get me!" With that he turned and dashed for one of the exits.

"Be glad to oblige you, punk!" Rag Doll shot back, pulling out yet another knife and giving chase.

"No!" Barry jumped up and grabbed an empty plate from one of the tables. "Leave my brother alone!" and he sailed the plate at Rag Doll, catching him by surprise as the dish smashed into his back and sent him stumbling, slightly off-balance.

Rag Doll quickly steadied himself and turned to glare at Barry. "You want to be a hero, boy?" he asked venomously, stepping forward as he spoke. "I wasn't planning to kill you since you're not a bad seed like your brother, but as long as you intend to impede me…"

Barry turned ashen, instinctively stepping back even as Laura, Alex and Daphne all looked on in terror. "Uh, okay, maybe the plate-throwing thing wasn't such a good idea…" he whimpered.

"Police! Freeze!"

Rag Doll turned toward the main exit, and beheld two officers standing there with guns drawn and pointed right at him. "Ah, the cavalry arrives," he sneered.

On the ground, holding his wounded hand, Maxwell looked at the two cops. "Hunter…Curtis…" he spoke.

"Get on the ground now! NOW!" Hunter snapped at Rag Doll.

"You gonna listen and obey, buddy?" Curtis cocked his gun. "Please say no."

Rag Doll considered the two guns pointed in his direction. Very slowly, he raised his hands and placed them behind his head, lowering himself almost to his knees, in a crouch…and in one fluid movement he dived behind the nearest table. Taking no chances, Curtis and Hunter immediately began firing their guns at the table as the bystanders rushed for cover, but Rag Doll leaped out and behind another nearby table, swiftly reaching up and grabbing a water-glass from the tabletop as he did so. Again the two detectives fired their guns at him, forcing him to scuttle along the floor to get behind yet another table, then to leap behind still another table—only, as he made the leap he flung the glass in their direction. It flew between them, shattering on the wall right behind them, and both cops flinched as the glass shards hit them, though not cutting them seriously, if at all…but that one moment's distraction was all the masked villain needed to grab other cutlery from the table and fling them at the officers, rushing at them as he did this.

Snarling, Hunter dodged the flung cutlery and then raised his gun to fire—and his eyes widened as Rag Doll, now suddenly in his personal space, seemed to snake his left arm around Hunter's wrist and twisted both in an anti-clockwise manner, causing the detective to yell out in pain as the sudden wrenching feeling in his wrist caused him to involuntarily drop his gun. In the same movement, Rag Doll lifted his leg up at an angle and brought it down on Curtis's own gun-arm just as the older detective was bringing up his firearm; his heel caught Curtis in the crook of his elbow, and Curtis flinched as his arm got a violent impact, jarring his hold on the gun. Releasing his hold on Hunter's arm, Rag Doll twisted his body and squirmed past both men, spun around, grabbed them by the backs of their heads, and slammed their skulls together, then stepped back and watched as both of them fell, dazed, to the floor.

While all this was going on, Maxwell managed to raise himself to his feet and now reached for his fallen gun with his good hand—but all at once Rag Doll flung several knives his way, one of which knocked the gun out of Maxwell's reach while two of the others embedded themselves into his hand. "Gaah!" Maxwell screamed, cringing at the pain.

"Uh-uh-uh, Commissioner, that's not recommended," said Rag Doll, pulling out a hunting knife from his belt and taking a step toward the senior officer.

"STOP IT!"

Everyone stared at Alex as she jumped up from where she'd huddled to hide from the gunfire. "What're you doing?" Laura hissed at her. "Get back here, don't go near him!"

"Please…" Alex's lip quavered even as she stopped right in between Maxwell and the masked man. "You…it's really you behind that mask, isn't it…Peter?"

"Peter?" Daphne and Barry asked in one disbelieving voice, looking at each other and then at Rag Doll.

Fresh tears coursed down Alex's face. "Hasn't there been enough death already? Enough suffering? Please…I'm begging you…just let it go."

Rag Doll narrowed his gaze at her. "Dear Alex…I thought you, of all people, would understand why I'm doing all of this," he said softly. "I thought we were on the same page, that you'd want the same thing I want. Or have you forgotten what we've gone through because of the wretches who put our family through torture? I killed those five little wastes of existence because they'd have gotten away without punishment otherwise…I'd have thought you'd be thanking me for it." He held up the blade of his knife so Alex could clearly see it. "I have to say, though, you truly disappoint me."

"Then I hope _**I**_ don't disappoint you!" a different voice shouted—seconds before a crimson-gloved fist slammed into Rag Doll's face, sending him flying away and into the buffet table, upsetting several of the food items still on display there.

"The Flash!" Laura's face lit up, together with Barry's.

"Everybody all right here?" Flash inquired.

"Injured, but alive," Maxwell replied, holding up his still-bleeding hands.

Flash nodded. "You, get everybody out of here," he spoke to Barry. "Including those guys…I doubt they'll be able to leave by themselves," indicating the downed Curtis and Hunter.

"Well, well, so you're here, too, Flash?" Rag Doll spoke up suddenly, lifting himself up from the ground where he'd fallen. "You don't let up, do you?"

"With a maniac like you running loose, I can't afford to," Flash replied dryly. "Now leave these people alone and let them go," he added, even as nearby Laura was tending to the injured Maxwell while Barry, Daphne and Alex struggled to lift the two unconscious detectives.

"Not a problem—I was only really here for one person anyway, but it seems he's run off like a little chicken," Rag Doll hissed. "Well, no matter—I can always seek him out later anyway."

"Not from a padded cell, you won't!" Flash snapped, before speeding toward Rag Doll. The latter, however, quickly flipped over the buffet table, thrusting his feet out and kicking a platter of fish at Flash as he landed to the floor in a handstand. The entire platter smacked Flash in the midsection, spilling fish, onions and oil all over him as he doubled over from the impact.

Grabbing a plate of fruit, Rag Doll flung the whole lot at Flash's head. However, Flash managed to evade the fruit assault, grabbing several slices of pineapple and watermelon out of midair and throwing them back at Rag Doll; the masked killer, for his part, batted away what was thrown at him and then caught a few pieces of the fruit on the point of his knife. "Can't let _all_ the food go to waste, now can we?" Rag Doll cracked as he popped a pineapple slice into his mouth, before bounding on top of the table, then jumping off it and toward Flash with said knife drawn and ready to stab the speedster.

But Flash wasn't having it. "Up yours!" he snapped as he grabbed Rag Doll's knife-hand by the wrist. Then, before Rag Doll could react, he spun the killer around several times at super-speed, before throwing him all the way to the other side of the auditorium and out one of the exits into the corridor. Eyes narrowing, he dashed toward the same spot a second later—just in time to see Rag Doll leap to his feet, scuttle up a nearby wall and squeeze into a ventilation shaft near the ceiling. "Okay, what are you—a man or a rat?" he griped.

For answer he heard loud shuffling noises directly above his head—then a section of the ceiling broke open as Rag Doll came down on top of him, a knife in each hand with the blades pointing downward. Flash jumped aside just in time to avoid the knives, but as their points got stabbed into the floor, Rag Doll seemed to turn part of his midsection like a corkscrew before bending his knees and thrusting both feet at the scarlet hero in a double-kick to the face. Reeling from the sudden booted assault and slamming into one of the corridor's walls, Flash was just barely able to duck as Rag Doll yanked one of the knives out of the floor and slashed toward his opponent's neck; the blade sang just above Flash's head by several inches. But then Rag Doll released his grip on the other knife that was still stabbed into the ground and brought up said hand to tightly grab Flash by the throat; gagging, Flash instinctively brought both hands to Rag Doll's wrist to stop from being choked, only to see Rag Doll's other hand upraised with the shining blade poised to stab at him. At once the speedster shot one of his hands upward, grabbing Rag Doll's knife-arm and struggling with it.

"Grr…last time I simply tore your suit open…this time it'll be your heart I skewer!" Rag Doll snarled at him, promptly bending his knife-arm's elbow the opposite way. As Flash's grip on his wrist subsequently loosened, Rag Doll flipped the knife into a backhanded hold and slashed downward with it—but Flash countered by holding up his arm and blocking the slash with his glove's wrist-bracer, metal clanking against metal. Not to be outdone, though, Rag Doll released his other hand's grip on Flash's neck and then ran for the wall, running two steps up it and then bounded off it to land in a sitting pose on the speedster's shoulders, facing the opposite direction from Flash, before raising the knife in both hands to stab downward.

Not waiting to find out what Rag Doll was about to do, Flash swiftly spun in place like a top, grabbing hold of Rag Doll's legs so he couldn't escape. "Wwwwhhhhoooaaaaa!" Rag Doll cried out as he spun around, his arms flailing helplessly, his stomach feeling sick—and then felt his head hit hard against concrete as the spinning caused his upper body to lean out from his formerly upright position, resulting in him being too close to the nearby wall. The killer's head exploded in pain as bright red and white lights flashed in his vision from the initial impact; two more similar impacts seconds later, damaging the paint job on the wall in the process, and he fell from Flash's shoulders while his knife got jarred out of his hand and clattered on the floor.

Finally slowing down his spinning to a stop, Flash watched as Rag Doll got up groggily, holding his head with a pained expression showing clearly through his mask. "Hmph. You might be good at taking hits, but even you have to have your limit." Suddenly he grinned. "Let's push that limit."

"H-huh?" Rag Doll looked up at that—and right before his eyes Flash was a blur of red as he ran toward his opponent and sent a punishing blow to his jaw. But not just one punch and not just in that place—a follow-up blow to the torso, then another, and another, and another, and Flash's fists were a crimson blur as the blows rained all over the killer's person. The punches pushed Rag Doll helplessly backward and right down the length of the corridor to a large window at the end of it, till his back was pressing against the glass pane; but Flash didn't let up even then, increasing the number and severity of his punches as his fists blitzed onto Rag Doll. Behind the villain, the glass pane cracked from the stress of being pressed against so violently…then one final punch to Rag Doll's face caused the whole window to smash outward as the villain flew through it and outside on the lawn, glass shards all around him.

Flash promptly hopped out the window and approached Rag Doll's still form. "Looks like _now_ you'll calm your little tantrum, Peter Merkel…" and he reached down to pull off Rag Doll's mask.

"Hey! Flash!" a voice called from close by, and looking up, Flash beheld Peter Merkel Junior running up. "I came out here to clear my head, then I heard all the commotion coming from inside, and…"

At the same moment, from a different direction Alex ran up, "Flash!" she cried. "We've already called for an ambulance, but I heard glass breaking around here, and…" She stopped short on seeing her brother. "Peter?" She looked from him to Rag Doll, utter confusion on her face. "But—aren't you—"

"Looks like your brother's innocent," Flash acknowledged. "But if that's so, then…" He reached down and ripped off Rag Doll's mask.

Alex's eyes widened as she saw who the newly-unmasked person was. "…no way…" she whispered, a hand going to her mouth.

Peter's voice was full of disbelief. "Dad?"

At their feet, Reverend Merkel groaned, his face bruised from the fight. "P…Peter…Alex…" he whispered, his eyes cracking open and beholding the stunned expressions on his children's faces.

"So the killer really was _**a**_ Peter Merkel…just not the one that was assumed," Flash said grimly.

"Dad…why?" asked Alex, her voice strained.

"I…" Reverend Merkel groaned again from the pain of his injuries. "I wanted to…make things right…make up for my failure to do my duty as a parent…win back your respect for me…I did it all for _you_…because a father's supposed to protect his children…" He sighed as he turned his gaze to Peter. "I'm sorry, son…in the end, I guess I couldn't practice what I preached."

Peter's eyes narrowed at this…then he turned his back to the minister. Alex covered her face with her hands, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Flash looked on at the father and his children, his own expression dour.

OOOOO

In what seemed no time at all, Reverend Merkel was clad in a straitjacket and being escorted into a van with five police officers surrounding him, even as other officers processed the scene and paramedics tended to the injured. Close by, Peter and Alex watched as the van doors slammed shut, their father caged within, and then as the van drove off. "So Dad really was the guilty party," Peter intoned. "I never thought he actually had it in him."

"You say that like it's a good thing," Alex looked at him. "Five people are still dead and others have been hurt because of what he did."

"Guys!" a third voice called from behind; turning, they beheld Jay approaching them. "You all right?"

"And you care because…?" Peter scoffed.

"What my brother means to say is yes, we're fine," Alex answered Jay. "But…it turns out our dad was the serial killer. Luckily, the Flash saved all of us before anything could happen here."

"And now your dad's in police custody. Ouch." Jay frowned and shook his head. "Really…I don't know what to say."

Peter's look darkened. "If you hadn't acted like such a scumbag all those years ago, none of this would have happened, West," he flung at Jay. "I hope you're satisfied." And he turned and stalked off.

Jay frowned more deeply as Peter walked away, then turned to Alex. "Uh, listen…for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Alex gave a woebegone sigh. "That's coming a little too late to heal the wounds…but I acknowledge the sentiment." Then she turned and followed after her brother.

Heaving a sigh himself, Jay ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the sidewalk—and just then his father approached him, both hands carefully bandaged. "Hey, son," Maxwell greeted him. "Care for some company?"

"Suit yourself," said Jay. "How're your hands?"

"Well, I won't be holding my gun for a little while, but other than that I'll manage." Maxwell sat down beside him and gave him a look. "You okay, Jason?"

Jay didn't say anything for a long moment…then he sighed again. "You know…I've never really thought about it much," he said quietly. "How I used to pick on the other kids back in high school, just to show off and let everybody know I could…and I didn't even have a bad upbringing to explain or justify it. Even now, sometimes, I still just look back at those times and treat the whole thing like I was just having fun…but it's pretty clear Peter's dad didn't feel the same way."

Maxwell regarded him. "Do you blame yourself for what happened to that man?"

"Well…I don't know," Jay shrugged. "I mean…I didn't tell him to go butcher a bunch of people just because they treated his kid like trash in high school…but…isn't that what people expect high school kids to do? How are we supposed to know which parents are gonna go off the bend because their kids got picked on?"

"I think that's the whole point, son—we _don't_ know how other people will react to the things we do," Maxwell answered. "That's why we have the responsibility to treat others the way we'd want others to treat us. That you behaved as you did in high school, I must say, it was a failing on your part to apply that principle…but I will also admit, it was a failing on my part as your father to ensure that you actually got that lesson."

"Peter's dad…was willing to kill for his son's sake," said Jay.

"And I was willing to shoot him for yours, if I had to," Maxwell spoke up. "When you and Barry were born, I made a pledge that as long as I had the strength and the will, I would do everything in my power to protect my children, even if I had to give my own body to be broken." A thoughtful look came into his eyes. "Perhaps, in that sense, Mr. Merkel and I might not be so different…parents who will do whatever it takes for their children's sake."

Jay scowled. "Why does it have to be so…complex?"

"Not all things in life are ever completely simple, Jay. The important thing is how we approach the challenges," said Maxwell. "For you…your challenge may very well be to own up to the mistakes you've made, and strive not to repeat them. That takes maturity. And the level of maturity you have is what makes you a man."

Now Maxwell stood up. "Anyway, let's go back to your mother and brother. I predict they'll treat me like an invalid now that I'm bandaged up."

Jay smiled a little and stood up also. "Yeah, Mom would definitely be like that. All right, let's go."

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 11**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—With the Rag Doll murder spree brought to a close, the Flash prepares to meet a new challenge…the matter of ongoing talks as to whether to deputize him as the Central-Keystone area's resident crime-fighter! Meanwhile, the Brick prepares to punish dissidents in Keystone City's business district who won't pay protection dues to his syndicate! Next chapter—_Behemoth!_


	12. Behemoth

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 12: Behemoth**

Danny "the Brick" Brickwell took up the Monday morning edition of the _Central City Chronicle_ and glanced briefly at the front-page headline. _"Rag Doll Serial Killer Arrested,"_ he read the caption. "Scarlet Speedster fights multiple-murderer at high school alumni party," he quoted the sub-title. "Not bad, Flash, not bad at all. You're definitely earning your stripes."

As Brick continued reading the story, the door to his office opened and in walked his servant, Hyatt, with a covered tray. "Good morning, Mr. Brickwell; your breakfast," Hyatt announced.

"Thank you, Hyatt. Just set it down here on my desk," Brick instructed him. "Have a look at the headline," he added, waving the paper for Hyatt to see. "Our scarlet friend strikes again."

Hyatt took the newspaper from his employer and glossed through the story. "Peter Merkel Senior, a pastor who ran an independent ministry in Keystone City for several years, confessed last night to the murders of five former Central City High School students, following his arrest at an alumni get-together for members of the school's graduating class of 2051, police sources told the _Chronicle,"_ he quoted. "Prior to his capture, Merkel—who went by the alias of Rag Doll—battled members of the police and fought against Central City's local costumed crime-fighter, the Flash. Ah, and this reporter included photos of that fight too."

"Valerie Powell, quite possibly the best reporter the _Chronicle_ has of her generation…I understand she's still quite young in the field, but she is adept at writing and capturing images to present to the public," said Brick. "Remind me to send her a gift-basket sometime, as appreciation of her talents. Anonymously, of course."

"Yes, sir," Hyatt nodded. "Ah, there's something else here, on page two…the city councils for the Central-Keystone area are to come today to discuss further the possibility of approving the move to deputize the Flash to legally fight crime between the two cities."

"Are they, now?" said Brick.

"And in light of the speedster's successes since his first appearance, there seems to be a good chance that the recommendation will be voted in," Hyatt noted. "There's even a public opinion poll attached to this story…81 percent of those polled agree with the recommendation, 7 percent disagree, and the remaining 12 percent are divided in their answers."

Brick reached over, picked up the food tray and settled it properly in front of him, only now lifting the lid. "Ah, two eggs over easy, toast with a slice of tomato on top, and a sausage with ketchup. Not bad," he remarked, picking up his knife and fork and proceeding to eat.

"The cook does his best to please," Hyatt commented.

"Indeed. That's what I pay him for," said Brick. "Now, as to the matter of the Flash…today is November 1. The Flash appeared last month, October 14. Only a short space of time and already he's built himself quite a track record."

"Yes, sir," affirmed Hyatt. "But might I ask what you intend to do concerning him? As you know, the assassin Gunhawk was sent to kill him, but he failed in that regard. Of course, there's nothing to trace that assassination attempt back to us, but if things are allowed to go much further without some kind of intervention…"

"All in good time," Brick casually waved off Hyatt's concern. "As regards Mr. Hawkleigh's failed attempt on the Flash's life, that assignment was simply to keep the speedster busy and ensure that he did not interfere—however inadvertently—with the transportation of my merchandise, and _that_ was successful. As I have said before, I fully expect to cross direct paths with the speedster soon, but if he tries to interfere with any of my operations prematurely…then he will be made to know just why I am known as the Brick." Here he put down his knife and fork and slammed one fist into a palm to emphasize his statement.

"Understood, sir," said Hyatt. He waited a moment. "There's something else, unrelated, sir…"

"Go on," said Brick, picking up his utensils and beginning to eat again.

Hyatt cleared his throat. "The word coming in from our men on the street is that there's a store-owner in Keystone's business district, specifically along Schumacher Avenue, who's refusing to pay over his protection dues anymore—the owner of Trollbridge Hardware. They haven't been able to collect from him for two months, now, despite making weekly visits to him."

"Has he been…strongly persuaded?" Brick asked between bites of his meal.

Hyatt nodded. "From what I'm told, some damage was done the last three times, and some of the employees were…agitated…but Trollbridge refuses to budge, and he still has a cadre of loyal workers who can provide him with muscle if need be. And just last week, they did."

"Hmm." Brick chewed his mouthful of food with a thoughtful expression on his face, and then swallowed it. "Well, I certainly laud his bravery in resisting my system of governance. However…" His expression darkened. "Rebellion must be quashed most strongly when its seeds start sprouting, or else others will get defiant and join the ranks of the mutineer, and thus the weed spreads and chokes out the crop that the farmer has sown. If this Trollbridge person thinks he can suffer no consequences for refusing the generous services my collectors are paid for, then he must be made an example of, for others to see what happens to those who oppose me."

"Yes, sir," said Hyatt. "Shall I authorize fire-power for the next visit?"

"No, no," Brick shook his head. "No guns. The police's forensics teams aren't stupid; if even one bullet is fired there, and is then somehow traced back to me, it will be…problematic." He fingered his chin. "No…this needs a more hands-on approach…a personal touch, if you will—the kind of approach that will leave a significant impression on those who would cross me."

"…you intend to see Trollbridge yourself," Hyatt realized.

"It's occasionally necessary for the man in charge to personally address issues that arise in business," Brick replied.

"As you say, sir," and Hyatt nodded. "I'll make the arrangements, then."

OOOOO

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to this special joint meeting of the Central and Keystone Cities' councils," Jasmine Russell, mayor of Central City, said warmly to the councilors seated at the huge round table. "Welcome also to the members of the press and the public, who are here with us for this very special meeting," she continued, addressing the gallery of reporters and civilians who were watching the proceedings. "Councilman Fox, would you please start the proceedings with a brief word of prayer…?"

Up in the gallery, Central-Keystone News reporter Alexander Walter and _Central City Chronicle _writer Valerie Powell sat together watching the proceedings; as the designated council member offered a prayer to begin the session, they and everyone else seated with them bowed their heads out of respect. In a little while the prayer ended, and Walter looked across at Valerie. "So, Val, I read your story in the paper today," he commented in a whisper, so as not to disturb the proceedings. "Nicely done."

"Thanks; I was just doing my work, is all," Valerie answered. "How do you think they'll vote today?"

"You mean about deputizing the Flash? Well, I don't want to pre-empt them, but it seems his chances may be pretty good," Walter remarked. "Let's see…he's already rescued Mayor Russell and D.A. Wolfe from the Trickster, stopped that Shockwave character from ravaging the city with his earthquake device, gave help to the fire department at the STAR Labs fire, and now he's stopped that nutty Rag Doll serial killer—and all of that in less than a month. Not to mention, the previous Flash had a good rapport with the Central-Keystone area, so…"

"Quite a lot of positives, for sure," admitted Valerie. "And then there's the fact that some of these councilors will want to make sure they get re-elected come next election season, and already there's quite a bit of support from the public for this new Flash."

"Let's wait and see what the good political reps have to say, then," and Walter settled into his seat.

OOOOO

The elderly man looked anxiously into the tree, oblivious to the happy cries of the young children playing in the park close by or to the general chatter of other nearby citizens. "Oh, poor Petunia," he groaned.

Suddenly he heard a noise coming from up the road, and turning to look, he saw a bright red blur speeding along the sidewalk. "Oh! Flash! Over here, please help!" he cried, waving an arm.

The blur shot past him—but a second later it doubled back and came to where the old man was standing. "Sorry about that, gramps," said Flash. "What's the matter? Somebody snatch your wallet?"

"No, no," the old man assured him. "It's my Petunia…she's stuck up in this tree, and I can't coax her to come down. Will you help me?"

Flash glanced up into the tree to see what the senior citizen was talking about, and beheld a dark-brown, very fluffy cat perched on a high branch. "How'd she get up there in the first place?" he queried.

"Oh, some youths were passing by with a big Rottweiler on a leash…Petunia got scared by the dog and ran up the tree to hide," the old man explained. "And now she's stuck up there, scared as anything…if I was a little younger, maybe I'd have gone up there after her myself, but…"

Up in the tree, Petunia mewed. "Hmm…" Flash took in the situation. "Well, all right. Just give me a minute, old-timer, I'll see what I can do."

As the old man watched, and as a few curious passers-by stopped to see what was happening, Flash walked up to the tree, grabbed the nearest sturdy branch, and began to hoist himself upward as carefully as he could. "Up I go, up I go, up I go," he muttered to himself. "Ah, here you are, Petunia…easy does it, kitty, easy does it, I'll get you down and safe to your owner…wha? Hey! Hey, not the claws, get the claws off me! Ow, ow, ow! Why, you little…oooooowwww!"

Struggling with the fidgety cat, Flash suddenly felt his foot slip off the branch he'd been balancing himself on…and the next thing he knew, he was on the grass below, flat on his back, with the cat clinging tightly to his chest, agitated but otherwise unharmed. The feline promptly bounded into the arms of its owner, even as the spectators laughed and applauded.

"Oh, thank you, Flash!" the grateful old man said, cuddling the kitty close to him.

"Yeah…you're welcome…" Flash mumbled, gingerly picking himself up and wincing at the soreness in his back. "And consider buying a leash for the fur-bag," he added under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" the old man inquired.

"Uh, has she had her shots?" Flash said aloud.

"Oh, she _always_ gets her shots!" the senior citizen assured him. "In fact, she got her regular check-up just yesterday!"

"Oh. Good. Well, take good care of her," Flash nodded to him. "Anyway, gotta run!" and he zipped off, even as the people cheered and waved farewell to him. "Man, I hate cats…"

Suddenly he felt a buzzing at the side of his mask as, right before his eyes, Dexter Myles's phone number popped up. "Oh? An incoming call…well, what can I say, this suit's built-in phone is really convenient!" With this, he flipped his earpiece open and touched the hidden button to receive the call. "Yeah, Dexter, talk to me," he said.

"_Hello there, Flash, glad I caught you here,"_ Dexter's cheerful voice spoke in his ear. _"Just thought you'd want to know—there's a gentleman from STAR Labs sitting right here in my office, who is offering you some help to gauge your abilities. I told him I'd ask you as soon as I could contact you, what you think of the offer…"_

"I gotcha—and I'll be there in less than a minute," said Flash, and he promptly hung up.

OOOOO

Over at the Flash Museum, Dexter hung up his phone and turned to his visitor, a brown-haired man wearing glasses and clad in a dark-brown suit. "Okay, Dr. Meersman, he should be here very soon," he said…and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than—_whoosh—_a red streak shot into the office, materializing half a second later as the Flash. "And here he is! Flash, meet Dr. Robert Meersman, the lead scientist at the STAR Labs branch here in Central City."

"Ah, pleased to meet you, Flash," said Dr. Meersman, standing from his seat to shake Flash's hand. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to meet the city's famed speedster at some point."

"Sure thing, Doc," said Flash. He hesitated. "Um, about STAR Labs…"

"I take it you're referring to the fire that broke out there last week Tuesday," said Dr. Meersman. "Don't worry about it—we've cleaned up most of the damage that occurred there, and luckily the fire didn't spread beyond the pyrotechnics laboratory."

A shadow fell over Flash's face, though, as he remembered the man who he'd failed to rescue from the blaze till after the firemen's arrival. "What about the guy who got hurt in the fire?" he asked warily.

"Oh, Dr. Byrnes?" said Dr. Meersman. "Well, right now he's still receiving treatment there for the injuries he sustained, but at the very least he's still alive. Unfortunately, he may be incapacitated for the next two months, from what we've been told."

"I see. Well, please give him my regards…I feel a little weird about what happened to him," Flash confessed.

"I understand," said Dr. Meersman.

Flash decided to change the subject. "So, Dexter says you're making an offer to me…?"

"Yes, as I was just explaining to Curator Myles," said the researcher, "since you're still early into your career as the area's new superhero protector, I suspect you still may not have fully gotten the hang of your powers. So I'm offering the services of the STAR Labs facility to help you train your powers and get more control over them."

"Hmm." Flash considered the offer. "Well, Dr. Meersman, I don't know if Dex here told you, but…"

"But your abilities are not intrinsic, coming instead solely from your costume. Yes, he made mention of that," Dr. Meersman affirmed. "Although, that brings up quite a few questions, wouldn't you say? For instance, where did the suit come from? Who built it? What sort of technology could it have that could emulate the previous Flash's speed powers so well?"

"Where it came from, I can answer—it was given to the Flash Museum by a Mr. John Jones…unfortunately, he left no contact information for me to keep in touch with him," Dexter admitted. "As for what the suit's technology is all about, well, Flash and I have done a bit of poking around with the suit, and we've found so far that it has a number of interesting doodads to it."

"It sure does," agreed Flash. "Like these bracers, for instance," and he held up his arms to show off his yellow gloves with the attached wrist-bracers. "These were never part of the original Flash's costume, but they've saved my life so far—when I was fighting Rag Doll, the bracers blocked his knife attacks."

"Ah, yes, I read all about that fight in today's paper," said Dr. Meersman. "What else?"

"My mask has some gadgets in the earpieces," said Flash. "One of them is a button to listen to the police dispatcher frequency, and the other lets me make and receive calls—plus there's a feature here that allows me to store phone numbers like an address book. I've already gotten Dexter's number saved!"

"Most interesting…it seems whoever designed your costume covered quite a few bases," said Dr. Meersman.

"Yeah—like making me able to take some degree of damage," said Flash. "I was able to take a point-blank shot from Shockwave's vibro-wave arm-cannons the first time he and I fought, but I think I was lucky more than anything else in that fight…but then, when I fought Rag Doll the first time, he was able to cut the suit with one of his knives…"

"You let him cut the suit?" Dexter glared at the speedster.

"Hey, I sewed it back up!" Flash said defensively.

Just then the phone on Dexter's desk rang. "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen," he said, and answered the phone. "Hello, Flash Museum, Curator Myles speaking…oh? Well, now, Mason, it's been a while! How's business?...ah, I see…what's that? You and the others plan to…hmm, well, that may well be problematic…but haven't you talked to your city council representative?...I see. All right, well, I'll see if he's amenable to that. Sure, if he is, then you'll see him very shortly. Don't be a stranger, now, old friend. Yes, thanks for calling. Bye-bye."

"That sounded like an old buddy of yours, Dex," Flash remarked as the older man ended the call.

"It was—that was my long-time friend, Mason Trollbridge," said Dexter. "He operates a hardware business over on Schumacher Avenue, in Keystone City's business district…but it seems there's been some trouble there for quite a while now…"

"Trouble?" Dr. Meersman adjusted his glasses with a curious expression on his face.

Dexter now looked grave. "Most of the business-owners in that part of Keystone have been under pressure for a long time now to pay regular amounts of extortion money to gangsters in exchange for not being hassled," he explained. "From what Mason just told me, he's the only one who hasn't paid the money in the past two months, and he's going to continue resisting as long as he can…problem is, the man that these criminals work for is not known for being kind to people who cross him. Has either of you heard of Danny Brickwell?"

Flash scratched his head. "Uh, sorry, the name's not really ringing any bells for me."

"Are you serious, young man?" Dr. Meersman looked at the Scarlet Speedster in astonishment. "You're telling us you've never heard of the man they call 'the Brick'? Skin as red as a boiled lobster, white hair and beard, body built like a tank?"

"Nope," Flash admitted.

"You should pay more attention to the news, then, my boy," Dexter said reprovingly. "The Brick is known as an extremely merciless crime kingpin in the Central-Keystone community. Everyone who knows of him knows that he's responsible for most of the criminal activity that goes on in the area, but because he always manages to stay _just_ enough on the good side of the law's written requirements, not to mention his pot-bellied lawyers who always know how to lie convincingly in his favor, the police can't pin anything on him, or if they ever do try, they can't make anything stick. And these people who're extorting these fees from these businesspeople? They're the Brick's people, without a doubt."

"Well, isn't there a precedent right there for the cops to do something about him, if everybody knows he's that bad a guy?" Flash wanted to know.

"Would that it were that simple," sighed Dexter. "Unfortunately, the Brick legally owns much of the property space in that part of the city, and rented much of it out to small and medium-sized businesses, and he's still buying parcels of land there even now. As I've said, he adheres to enough of the letter of the law so that he can avoid prosecution, but that doesn't mean he honors the spirit of the law. He's willing to do whatever he can to find escape clauses in the law that will allow him to get away with his crimes."

"You mentioned something about the business-owners' city council representative in your conversation just now, Mr. Myles," Dr. Meersman pointed out.

"Yes…Ross Malverk," Dexter outlined. "He's been a Keystone City council member for a number of years, always making representation for the working and middle classes. Which reminds me—the cities' two councils should be voting today on whether to deputize our speedster to fight local crime in the Central-Keystone area."

Flash slapped himself on the forehead. "That was today? I didn't even remember about that!"

"Don't worry about it—they probably won't take that long to make their decision, anyway," said Dexter. "Right now, I'm more concerned about Mason. If Brick decides to send his men to collect from him by force…"

"Want me to head over there and check things out?" Flash offered.

Now Dexter smiled a little. "I'm sure Mason will appreciate it much. All right, then, go to Trollbridge Hardware on Schumacher Avenue and talk with Mason a while. He'll tell you the ins and outs of what's been happening."

"Wait—before you go, Flash, don't forget to drop by STAR Labs and see what we're rigging up for you," Dr. Meersman told the speedster. "You could probably stop by after you come back from Keystone City. I'm sure you want to find out what other surprises are hidden in your costume, as well as find out what its limits are…we'll facilitate you as best we can."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll definitely try and stop by later…this whole business with Schumacher Avenue probably won't take all that long, anyway." Flash nodded. "Well, later, folks!" And he was gone in a streak of crimson.

Dexter now turned to Dr. Meersman again. "I'm curious, concerning the city councils' vote for our scarlet friend…how _do_ you think they'll vote, really?"

"Given his accomplishments in the short time he's been here, as well as his predecessor's good relations with the two cities, they'll probably have only one or two dissenting votes at worst," Dr. Meersman suggested confidently. "At best, it'll be a unanimous vote."

OOOOO

"Absolutely not!" Ross Malverk jumped up and shouted at the other city council members. "If we give deputized status to this red-masked fellow, we may as well give a license to every man and woman to take justice into their own hands whenever they want! But we all know that vigilantism is against the law in this country, and in every civilized country where law and order are paramount!"

"Councilman Malverk, please, there's no need to shout," Uriah Gayle, mayor of Keystone City, said smoothly but with authority. "Now, we must consider—_has_ Flash gone outside the bounds of the law by taking up this role as a costumed crime-fighter for Central and Keystone Cities?"

"Is Flash wearing a badge? Does he have any sort of governmental sanction? Do we know who he is behind his mask? How do we know he's not trying to butter us up for something worse than what we have in our current crime statistics?" Malverk demanded. "At least we know our police officers are bound by the law and act within the law—but this guy doesn't even have a leash on him!"

"Which is why we're talking about whether to deputize him, Councilman Malverk—with that, he'll be officially sanctioned to fight crime just like our regular police officers, it's just that he'll do it while wearing a costume," Mayor Russell spoke up. "And he'll be accountable; more so, in fact, than even our police force is at present. Besides, you talk about our police as though they're all perfect angels—but if we're to be honest, we must admit that even the CCPD and the KCPD have their bad apples despite being bound by the rule of law to serve and protect."

Mayor Gayle chuckled a little to himself. Already in his second term of office in Keystone City, he knew his council members' personalities quite well, and Malverk's personality was both direct and combative. On more than one occasion he himself had had to butt heads with Malverk, both when Gayle was still a regular councilman and during his first campaign for the mayor's chair; they differed on numerous hot-button topics ranging from gun control to food safety to increasing or decreasing business property taxes. As far as the topic of costumed crime-fighters went, Malverk was extremely vocal in his opposition to them on the grounds of their acting outside the conventional bounds of the law, and he wasn't afraid to let it be known to whoever would listen.

At the same time, Mayor Gayle knew that Malverk, for all his opposition to the superhero community, was a man with the interest of his supporters at heart. Malverk had grown up in a blue-collar household, and therefore he advocated strongly and often for the rights of blue-collar workers in Keystone City. Love him or hate him, both his staunchest defenders and his fiercest critics had to acknowledge that it would take a major upset to overturn Malverk's vote among the working class. It was for this reason that Mayor Gayle endured Malverk's generally brash temperament; that the man despised the idea of a costumed individual fighting crime was just one more quirk the Keystone City mayor could tolerate in his city council.

"Actually, Mayor Russell, I have to say I'm not in favor of deputizing the Flash either," Councilman Fox spoke up. Those who knew him knew that Cleveland Fox, a longstanding member of Central City's political council and the man who'd offered the opening word of prayer earlier, was usually a man of few words, but whenever he spoke, he was direct and to the point, and everything he said always had some merit. "Let's say we do appoint him legally—who says he won't attract all sorts of bizarre characters to the Central-Keystone area? Already he's had to fight the likes of the Trickster and Rag Doll—can we really afford to have more people coming along to pick fights with him, with the inevitable collateral damage that's sure to follow?"

"Let's be reminded that the criminals Flash has faced so far all existed before he did," pointed out Keystone City's deputy mayor Ashton Kristos. "The Trickster made his debut just before the Flash did. Rag Doll was a crazy serial killer with a grudge, and his grudge wasn't even against the Flash. Shockwave was in operation before the Flash, and _his_ grudge wasn't against the speedster either."

"But what about that rogue gunman—Gunhawk—who tried to shoot the Flash the night of the fire at STAR Labs? Didn't he have an agenda against the Flash?" interjected another Central City council member, this one being that city's deputy mayor, Valentino Torres, who everyone in the council knew had a strict black-and-white view on legal matters that was fuelled by his religiously conservative background. "And for that matter, what about the fire itself—a man got badly burned in that accident. Couldn't Flash have done more to help him, or even to prevent that fire from doing more damage than it did?"

"Like what?" demanded Mayor Russell. "It's not like Flash could have even predicted there was going to be a fire—he's certainly not a seer or a mystic or a prophet."

Up in the viewing gallery, Alexander Walter rubbed his temples with his fingertips, and Valerie Powell heaved a heavy sigh. They glanced at one another and immediately knew they were thinking the exact same thing.

_This is going to be a long session._

OOOOO

It didn't take Flash very long to find Trollbridge Hardware, a modest-looking building with a huge wooden sign over its entrance advertising its opening hours and services offered. Studying the sign for a moment, he nodded and walked into the open front entrance. "Hello!" he called.

The workers on duty throughout the wide-open space looked up, and immediately their faces lit up on seeing who it was. "Hey, guys, check it out—it's the Flash!" one worker called to his colleagues nearby. "Welcome to Trollbridge Hardware! What can we get you? Need some tools? Paint? Craftsmanship for hire?"

"Thanks, but actually I'd like to see your boss, Mr. Trollbridge," said Flash. "Is he here?"

"In the flesh, young fellow," another voice announced from somewhere further inside the store; and all heads turned to look as an older man with curly brown hair stepped out with a smile. "All right, guys, back to work; what, don't you see the Flash enough times in the news?" To the speedster he said, "So Dexter convinced you to come and talk with me about what's happening here…"

"He told me you've been having some…challenges." Flash carefully selected the last word. "What can you tell me about it?"

"What's there to tell? The Brick's been sending his goons to shake down the business-owners in this area for protection money, and I'm the only one who hasn't buckled under the pressure. Then to make it worse, he publicly says he knows nothing about these racketeers, but everybody knows they're HIS people." Mr. Trollbridge's voice was low, but there was no disguising the contempt in his tone as he continued. "Every week those punks come here in their suits and ties, and it's only recently that they've started to do property damage here to try and force me to either pay up or leave. But they're not gonna get one cred from me, and they're not gonna make me pull up stakes and leave. Sure, they've scared off some of my workers, but the rest of us aren't scared of some big-shot crime boss."

Flash looked thoughtful. "Question, Mr. Trollbridge. These guys are working for Brick, right? Haven't you got any evidence to pin on him?"

Mr. Trollbridge shook his head. "It's all an open secret, Flash. Everybody knows Brick's behind the shakedowns, but these thugs would never turn state's evidence against him—they're too loyal for that. And in any case, there's not a soul in the area who'll take a public stance against the Brick." He shook his head sadly. "Everybody and their mother know he's a bad name, but because he's got so much money and power in his hands, nobody wants to openly defy him. The police? He's got a handful of them in his back pocket, and the rest are too afraid of how he'll retaliate if they publicly oppose him. Lawyers? Right. The ones who don't represent him envy the ones who do. He's got a lot of people's hands tied, Flash—he's been buying real estate in this part of Keystone for a long time now, making all kinds of _donations _to the city through anonymous funds, and he's got a whole lot of influence with people in very high places."

"But something tells me you're not going to just roll over like that," noted Flash.

"Who, _me?_ Look, boy, I've invested far too much into this place of mine to just let a guy like Brick take it all away from me," said Mr. Trollbridge. "The Brick might paint himself as a man of power, and the police and the people might be too intimidated to deal with him properly, but I've dealt with my fair share of bullies in my lifetime. He's just one more—"

Just then a hard look came over his face as he stared past Flash. "Well."

Puzzled, Flash turned to look over his shoulder and saw a large black sports-utility van parking just outside on the curb. Four brawny-looking men in dark suits with matching hats and sharp-looking sunglasses on their faces emerged from the vehicle and walked into the business-place with stone-faced expressions, even as the hardware employees looked on with sudden silent hostility. Without look left or right, the men all came directly toward the stiffening Mr. Trollbridge. "Howdy-do, Mr. Trollbridge," one of them greeted him in a deep, raspy voice. "You mind if we go into your office and talk business?" and he turned his head very slightly toward Flash as he asked the question.

"Actually, yeah, I do mind." Mr. Trollbridge's voice was flat. "Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it out here. I'm not keeping secrets from anybody."

"All right, if that's what you want." The delegation's leader shrugged. "In that case, I'm coming right to the point. You've been refusing to hand over what we've come to collect for a good little while now. Today's your last chance."

But Mr. Trollbridge scoffed. "What're you gonna do—break some of my tools if I don't pay you? You listen to me, I'm not paying one credit to you crooks, and I'm not backing down on that. And if you want a fight, I'm more than ready to give it to you. Me and my workers, we're all sick and tired of you shaking us down for what's not yours to start with."

The leader's brow furrowed behind his sunglasses. "Mr. Trollbridge, I won't tell you again. Right now, you've only got two options. Either you pay what's due, and we let you run your business in peace…or we teach you and your people a lesson in respect and manners."

Mr. Trollbridge folded his arms across his chest. "If you want us to leave, move us yourself. But if you put one hand on me or any of my staff, I'll file charges against you and your buddies for assault."

The leader put a hand into his jacket and produced an iron knuckleduster, while his followers pulled out iron pipes from inside their clothes. In response, Mr. Trollbridge's workers grabbed crowbars, hammers, wrenches, and other tools and gathered closer to defend their boss…and then the Flash stepped in between the two groups. "C'mon, guys, let's all be cool here," he said.

"Butt out, costumed freak," the thugs' leader growled, thrusting his face into Flash's while raising his knuckleduster-covered fist meaningfully. "Just run along, and we won't hurt you."

"Dude." Flash narrowed his eyes. "Get your ugly mug and your tin toy out of my face. Now."

"Or else what, Little Red Riding Hood?" the leader asked with a taunting smirk—but suddenly the costumed man was gone from in front of him in a blur, and he and his allies felt something yanking their weapons from their hands before seeing Flash re-emerge before them two seconds later, carrying said weapons in his arms.

"Or else, I'll show you what _else_ I can do in the space of a couple seconds," Flash said in an even tone.

"Looks like you bozos better watch yourselves," Mr. Trollbridge spoke up, now with a smirk. "Now you're unarmed _and_ outnumbered, and we've got the Flash here with us. Try anything else, you're going to get stomped flat. Now get out of my store."

"Oooohhhh, so you've got the Flash as your hired muscle against us, is that it?" the leader asked, heat rising in his voice. "Well, guess what, old man—we're not scared of him, no matter how fast he is!"

"**Enough."**

The thugs automatically turned to look in the direction of the SUV, as its back door opened…and they promptly stood at attention. "Mr. Brickwell, sir!" they crowed as one.

"Brickwell…" Mr. Trollbridge's face turned sour. "So you were here all along?"

"I thought I'd let my subordinates give you one more opportunity to change your mind before stepping in to mediate the situation myself," the other man replied as he stepped out of the vehicle…and he was clad in a white business suit with matching tie and shoes, standing head and shoulders above everybody else present and bearing a hulking mass of bulk. "But it seems the old saying is true—sometimes you just have to do some things yourself if you want them done right."

The hardware workers' faces suddenly looked uncertain as they took in the view of the new arrival, while the four suited thugs now wore smug expressions while stepping out of the man's way. For their part, Flash and Mr. Trollbridge watched the man warily. "Sooo…I take it this guy must be the infamous Brick," Flash commented.

"Well, now, what have we here?" Brick asked, his gaze settling directly on the Scarlet Speedster. "So you're the Flash, huh? I've heard of you, boy, but I didn't expect I'd get to meet you this soon. Nice to finally make your acquaintance—Daniel Brickwell's the name."

"I've heard of you too, mister," Flash said with a frown. "And I'm not too impressed by the stories."

"Oh, believe me, you soon will be." Brick's eyes narrowed. "You seem like a reasonable person, so I'll give you one chance—you stand aside and let me and my men do what we need to do, or you stand in my way and risk a world of hurt."

"And what exactly is it you 'need to do'? Just so we're clear," said Flash.

"To teach Mr. Trollbridge and his employees the necessity of paying their dues on time, in full, and without complaint," Brick answered.

Flash glanced at Mr. Trollbridge. "Say, pops, do _you _agree with his opinion?"

"No," Mr. Trollbridge answered staunchly.

"Hmm. Well, there you have it, Brickwell, I guess the answer is—_woooouuf!" _Flash suddenly felt a hard impact under his chin as Brick swung a fist upward in an uppercut that sent him flying several feet backwards and crashing into the wall at the far end of the store.

Mr. Trollbridge and his workers looked on with stunned expressions as, right before them, Brick tightened the fist he'd just used to punch Flash. "There's a reason I'm known as the _Brick,"_ he announced. "See, back in the day I was known for being able to hit as hard as a wrecking ball and take hits like nobody's business—and that was _before _I got hold of a certain strength-enhancing super-serum that toughened my skin and made me into a walking one-man army. You're not getting up from that one that I just gave you for now, I'll tell you that." Then he looked around at the workers. "Anybody else want to play 'Custer's Last Stand'?"

In response, Mr. Trollbridge stepped forward defiantly. "I'll play, you overgrown dirt-bag."

"No!" Flash suddenly shouted—and as all eyes turned to him, he slowly picked himself up from the floor where he'd landed. "I'll deal with this guy! Get your staff out of here, now!"

"How heroic. Too bad that won't be enough to stop me." Suddenly Brick rushed forward with a speed that defied his mass, and swung one fist at Flash's head. The Scarlet Speedster, in turn, rushed out of the way just in time to allow the intended punch to smash into the wall instead; then he promptly shot forward and fired multiple punches at Brick's midsection at blinding speed, knocking the taller man back a step.

Brick flung a right punch forward, then a left, but the red-clad hero easily dodged both and kicked at the back of the bigger man's leg, causing him to stumble forward with a grimace. Flash then send a right punch of his own straight at Brick's face, catching him in the mouth and knocking him down.

Seeing this, the four suits stepped forward—but Mr. Trollbridge and his workers promptly stepped forward to confront them, forcing the thugs to step backwards and outside the building. "Do you really want to get involved in a fight like _that?"_ Mr. Trollbridge asked.

The lead thug snarled at the businessman. "We can wait. As soon as our boss crushes the Flash, we're tearing your place down, old man!" he vowed.

Back inside, Flash grimaced and flexed his fingers. "You weren't kidding about having tough skin," he griped.

Brick stood back up, wiping blood from his mouth where he'd been punched. "Not bad, Flash, not bad…you actually managed to draw blood from me. That doesn't happen very often, so I'll give you props for that," he congratulated his opponent. "I'm also pretty impressed you got back up from that first strike I gave you. You're certainly tougher than you look." Then he clenched his fists again. "Let's see how long that toughness lasts!" he yelled, charging at Flash again.

Leaping aside to avoid one straight punch, and then narrowly leaping aside to escape a backhanded punch, Flash ran around and behind Brick, leaped onto his back, and hammered numerous punches onto the man's skull. Grimacing at the multiple rapid impacts, Brick reached back, grabbed Flash, and flung him to the ground with a solid _whump_. As Flash cringed from the force of his landing, Brick lifted him up and slammed him into the ground again, then flung him off to one side, with Flash crashing into a tool-display rack and knocking the whole thing over. Flash was momentarily stunned from the crash, and was therefore unable to do anything as Brick, suddenly hovering over him, grabbed him by the throat and began to throttle him; however, feeling his air supply abruptly cut off, he reached for a hammer that had gotten knocked off the rack and swung it at Brick's head.

_WONK!_

The resulting impact knocked Brick to one side, disorienting him enough to make him let go of the speedster's throat. Flash, in turn, rolled away in the opposite direction, then lifted himself to one knee, then to his feet, and appraised his opponent. Brick, meanwhile, shook his head to clear it of the stars from Flash hitting him with the mallet; then he looked in the speedster's direction. "That…actually hurt."

"Oh, come on—that should've at least knocked you out cold!" Flash protested.

"Tough as an actual brick, or did you forget already?" Brick mocked him. "But don't worry, Flash…it'll all be over before you know it. I'm a nice enough guy that I'll make sure you don't feel too much pain." He got to his feet and stalked over to Flash. "Nothing personal, boy. Just a part of doing business with me."

Flash was still holding the hammer he'd just whacked Brick with; now he flung it at the mob boss's head. Brick reflexively swung one arm up to block the hammer's flight, and he scowled as he felt its impact on his wrist…then a second later a red blur shot up to him and a yellow-gloved fist hammered multiple times against his chin. Annoyed, Brick swung his arm up in a backhanded move, and Flash ended up sailing to the other side of the room, hitting the wall and crumpling to the floor in a daze.

"Tenacious, I'll give you that," said Brick. "But as fun as this has been, I think it's high time I put an end to this little game."

So saying, he took a step forward—and a second later he fell flat on his face. "Uh…!"

Just managing to sit up where he'd fallen, Flash smirked. "That would be the concussion talking, after me going all jackhammer on your chin," he commented. "Even super-toughness can't stop the body's natural responses—I've been hurt enough times in my high school sports days to know that. Not…that I'm in much better shape to talk right now, myself."

_Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing! Riiiiing!_

Both men stiffened as the noise of a cell-phone's ring-tone rang out in the hardware store. "…that would be me," Brick acknowledged as he cautiously sat up, before reaching a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone, touching a button to answer it. "What is it? I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment…eh?" He paused. "I see…very well."

He hung up the phone and stood up slowly, testing his balance in case he fell down again. "You'll have to excuse me for the moment, Flash—an associate of mine needs my attention, and that person takes higher priority than you or Mr. Trollbridge."

"Ugh…" Flash tried to stand up, too, only to fall right back on his rump. "If I wasn't feeling sore enough to know better, I'd say you were running away with your tail between your legs. As it is…"

"As it is, we'll have to finish our engagement some other time. But for now, you can rest assured that Mr. Trollbridge will have a momentary reprieve." Brick nodded at the speedster. "Next time you get in my way, though, Flash, I'll make sure you'll never run again. Count on that." Then he turned and walked out of the store with all the dignity he could summon. "Gentlemen, we're leaving," he addressed his henchmen.

"Yes, sir!" the thugs announced, and they promptly headed for the SUV while one opened the back door for Brick to enter. Then the vehicle's engine turned over, and a moment later they were roaring off down the street.

"Yeah, that's right—you better run!" Mr. Trollbridge shouted after them, while his employees cheered and waved their tools in the air.

As the workmen continued their cheers and whoops, Mr. Trollbridge turned and walked back inside to meet Flash, who by now was getting back on his feet. "Nice job, kid," the store-owner congratulated him. "You made quick work of him—uh, no pun intended."

"Yeah, well…" Flash looked around the store and beheld the damaged sections from the fight. "Sorry about the damage, Mr. Trollbridge," he apologized.

"Eh, no worries—you couldn't avoid it. Brick's kind of a brute like that," Mr. Trollbridge shrugged it off. "But it's not like we can't do repairs anyway—it's a hardware."

Flash looked toward the outside where Brick's vehicle had been parked moments before. "He'll be back, you know."

Mr. Trollbridge took in the speedster's sober expression. "…maybe. But you'll deal with him next time, right?"

"I'll do what I can—he's no cupcake," said Flash. "It'd be good if I could have your number just in case."

"Sure!" Mr. Trollbridge nodded. "It's 613-3940."

Flash opened his cowl's earpiece where the button for the phone and address book was, and swiftly recorded the information. "Mason Trollbridge, 613-3940…save," he spoke aloud, and the information was immediately stored. "Call Mason Trollbridge," he said next, pushing the button—and at once a cell-phone rang loudly while Mr. Trollbridge automatically moved to answer it.

"Hey, that's a pretty nifty gadget you've got there!" Mr. Trollbridge exclaimed. "So I take it this is your number that's calling?"

"I'd imagine so—I haven't really tried to learn it," Flash admitted. "But anyway, now that you've seen my number, you can call me if an emergency comes up…like, say, an emergency called the Brick."

"Gotcha," Mr. Trollbridge nodded. "Thanks for coming on over, Flash; I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome." But Flash's pensive look and his steely gaze toward Brick's former parking spot hadn't changed.

OOOOO

"You actually went head-to-head with Brick himself?" Dexter stared in disbelief.

"Yeah…and he was way tougher than you advertised." Flash rubbed the back of his neck and winced. "Ow…I think my bruises' _bruises_ have bruises!"

The Scarlet Speedster was back in Dexter's office at the Flash Museum, having just informed the curator of what had happened at Trollbridge's place. Now Dexter fingered his chin in contemplation. "But I must admit, Jay…for you to finish the fight with minimum damage to yourself, it would seem you're getting more used to what superhero battles are like, as well as getting more used to your costume," the curator remarked.

"You call what I went through _minimum damage?" _Flash barked. "Even with super-speed, I'm just lucky he didn't turn me inside out! And the only reason _that _didn't happen was because he took a phone call and then decided to cut the fight short and leave on his own!"

"So noted…but at least you did the best you could." Dexter nodded.

"But what am I supposed to do from here on out, Dex?" Flash asked soberly. "I don't think Brick will just leave Trollbridge alone, now that I've gotten directly involved with him. I did exchange contact info with Trollbridge, though, just in case anything happens at his place again."

"That's a smart move—at least Mason will have you on call in case of anything," said Dexter. "I can understand your concern, though…Brick and his thugs might come seeking revenge. You need to be prepared for these kinds of things when you're going up against the leader of an organized crime syndicate."

Flash regarded Dexter. "You seem to know a bit about Brick's activities, even if it's only by second-hand knowledge. What else can you tell me about him?"

"Hmm…" Dexter thought for a minute. "I believe your father's tried to make movements against Brick several times in the last five years, ever since he was appointed as police commissioner of Central City, but because there's never been any solid evidence to use against Brick, all such actions wound up falling through. The Keystone City police haven't ever been able to do much against him, either, plus a few of them are actually on Brick's payroll, and the rest don't want to antagonize him out of fear of retaliation."

"I see." It was now Flash's turn to think the matter through. "So what should I do?"

"I'd definitely advise you not to do anything further against Brick directly," said Dexter. "For now, just keep doing what you're doing, and don't go looking for trouble. Remember, too, you haven't yet been deputized by the cities' councils, so you don't have any grounds to take the fight to a kingpin like him in any case. If he tries anything directly against you, of course, then you should defend yourself, but don't try to take him on head-on or you'll lose, legally if not physically."

"Hmm. Well, I'll have to process all this," said Flash, while now standing up. "Anyway, I gotta run—no pun intended. I've got a class at 11:00…but say, could you get in touch with Dr. Meersman and let him know I'd like to pop by STAR Labs later today? Any time after 3:00 should be good—I'll be free from school then."

"Certainly," Dexter nodded. "After you leave school, come back by here and I'll let you know what time to go over and see him. And try not to aggravate your injuries, okay?"

"Thanks. See ya!" And then Flash was gone in a rush of speed.

OOOOO

Brick sat in his office chair, facing the window and looking at the city outside, deep in thought as he held an ice-pack to his jaw. Then suddenly there was a knock on his door. "Enter," he called.

A moment later, Hyatt came in. "Mr. Brickwell, sir…your visitor is here."

Brick swiveled his chair around and stood up, just in time to see a dark-suited figure walk past Hyatt to enter the room. "Thank you for showing me in, Mr. Hyatt. Privacy, please," the visitor instructed the servant.

Nodding, Hyatt stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. Now Brick regarded the visitor. "How may I help you, sir?" he asked.

The new arrival's expression was poker-faced. "I hear you had a little run-in with the Flash while conducting your business today. And," he eyed the ice-pack Brick was holding, "it would seem what I've heard was not entirely inaccurate."

"I did have an encounter with him a while ago, yes," Brick admitted.

"And your impression of him…?" the visitor wanted to know.

"A potential spanner in the works," said Brick. "A twig that needs to be snapped in two."

"Never mind him." The stranger clasped his hands behind his back. "The Flash will be dealt with in due time. But for now, let it rest—we have more pressing matters to attend to. You keep on your end of the business schedule as usual…I will have tabs kept on the Flash from now on, to make sure he does not interfere with our grand plans."

Brick's gaze narrowed…then he placed a hand over his left breast and bowed slightly. "Yes, sir. Understood."

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 12**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—the result of the Central-Keystone councils' vote for deputizing the Flash is revealed! Meanwhile, as Flash contemplates a possible future encounter with the Brick's syndicate, he gets to fight his first female super-villain! Next chapter—_Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend!_

(Character commentary: In the original comics, Ross Malverk was a crime boss who ran afoul of the Flash; he was also a possible alias for the super-criminal Cobalt Blue, but this was never definitely confirmed. Also, Mason Trollbridge was a friend of Wally West's, who often helped the speedster during his early career.)


	13. Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 13: Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend**

The Flash Museum was not the only museum in Central City's environs; over in its Mounds View district was situated the Gedde Natural History Museum, home to numerous famous artifacts and priceless works of art. Even now, several small tour groups were taken from one exhibit to another by the learned guides, who explained each display with as much authority and knowledge as Dexter Myles might do at the city's more famous superhero-themed museum.

"…and over here we have our special diamond exhibit, which includes some of the world's finest gems that have been discovered by archaeologists within the last thirty years," a museum guide addressed his tour group. "Like this one," he directed them to a gemstone sitting by itself in a glass case, slightly larger than a baseball, separated from the onlookers by a large red barrier rope. "This is the famous White Dove Diamond, which was mined out of the very heart of Sydney, Australia in 2027. It got its name from the flaw near its centre…when held at a certain angle, the flaw takes on the shape of a dove taking flight. It's been weighed in at 600 carats, the highest carat-valued diamond since the Golden Jubilee Diamond, which weighed in at 545 carats, was mined in the South African Premier Mine in 1985."

Not far away, the museum curator watched from her office door as the guests viewing the White Dove ooh'ed and ah'ed and took multiple pictures of the diamond. Her eyes shifted from them to other groups who were walking around, admiring other exhibits that were just as valuable, from the newly-rediscovered original print of an old East Asian watercolor work from 1758 to an old framed photograph of long-deceased comic Charlie Chaplin dated 1918. Her eyes lingered on the display pieces themselves which, she mentally noted, would fetch close to the one-billion credit mark in terms of their monetary value by modern standards, especially the older pieces that were in mint condition even now.

Margaret Pye had been curator of this museum for quite a few years now, and in the time she'd been here she'd seen many lovely and priceless art pieces come and go, some for permanent display here at this museum, others only here briefly for stopover tours before being shipped off to some other museums across the country or on the other side of the world. Each time they came here, whether permanently or temporarily, as curator it was her responsibility to ensure that they were kept safe and undamaged. Each day she watched as the visitors came to admire what was here on open display, only coming out herself to answer a few questions on pieces she had extensive knowledge on whenever she thought her presence was really needed.

And, of course, in her line of work it was only natural that she should have as much knowledge about the different pieces as possible. To be sure, she couldn't know every single thing about every single piece, but she knew enough about all of them that she could pride herself on spotting any artist-approved copy or criminal forgery if she ever saw it.

Oftentimes, long before opening hours and long after closing time, she would take a private strut around the museum's halls and look at each piece of art closely, making particular note of the ones that were most valuable so she could answer the most extensive questions about them.

Looking…and never touching. Overseeing…and never owning.

In her mind, it wasn't fair.

And why should it be? After all, she got no more than the usual monthly salary into her account, a couple thousand credits for watching over items worth at least a thousand times more than that. That she monitored such expensive art pieces day after day, only to be paid a mere fraction of their cost at the end of the month, seemed to her to be a serious imbalance. The best she could do, at least, to temper her feelings of disquiet was to pick up all manner of fake jewels from whichever trinket stores she could get them, wannabe jewels of all shapes, sizes and colors, and hoard them in a special cache at her home. That was a practice she'd started a good while back, and she'd even worn a few of them on her person despite the odd looks she'd often get from people who could spot fake jewelry at a glance and despite knowing herself that they weren't nearly as valuable as the genuine items, solely because she felt a deep longing to have _something_ valuable for herself.

_Except I still want the shiny things of actual value for my own,_ she thought bitterly, even as she now retreated inside her office, shut the door, and sat down at her desk.

That desire had been reinforced some four months ago, she recounted, in an admittedly bizarre and possibly contradictory manner. One night back then, she'd been heading to her car, several pseudo-diamond rings on her fingers and a fake ruby hanging from her neck, and a street tough in a hooded jacket had attacked her, yanking the supposed gems from her body, only to realize they weren't what they seemed to be and throw them back at her before stalking off in disgust. If she was going to get mugged, Maggie thought ruefully as she remembered that night, at the very least she should be mugged for something of worth.

So she decided to put the fake jewels to some measure of use. As it turned out, many of them shone brightly like how real gems were supposed to, but these were in fact hollow on the inside. That meant there was room to stash things inside them. Like, say, protective measures of whatever sort for her to defend herself against another mugging—after all, she wouldn't really _want_ to be mugged, even for something genuinely expensive.

It had taken the following month and a half to select the best-sized fake diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and other items in her collection and learn, through trial and error, just how hollow they really were and how to open them. The next three weeks after that were spend learning to fill the hollow spaces with whatever kind of small-scale weaponry she could secure, whether small blades, corrosive liquids or whatever explosive material she could legally obtain. Once she was satisfied with the fitting process, the next month was spent testing her newly-created weapons on the outskirts of the city for hours on end during weekends. Her fake jewels, now outfitted as they were, had a new sense of worth in her eyes, at least as useful tools to defend herself.

Even still, for all that time she'd spent on her gems, none of them could compare to the genuine articles, the ones that were just diamonds or other precious stones, the ones you could actually sell for thousands upon thousands of credits. And it wasn't as though she could just pick up a priceless artifact like the White Dove Diamond and walk out of the museum with it.

…or could she?

Maggie thought about what had just crossed her mind. And the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

She knew her liking for bright, shiny objects could be traced all the way back to her childhood. She'd always had that obsession even back then, whether the items in question had any actual value or not, just as she now found herself longing to possess these costly items in the museum. Back then, because of her compulsion, her schoolmates had shortened her name to something of a nickname, which, if she remembered correctly, was itself the name of a bird that had much the same kind of characteristic.

Margaret Pye.

Maggie Pye.

Magpie.

A smile slowly crossed her lips, even as she brushed a stray lock of her bright red hair away from her brow. Those fake jewels she'd bought and outfitted might not have much monetary value of themselves as compared to their genuine counterparts, but they would certainly come in handy now.

She needed to get busy making her childhood name have real meaning.

OOOOO

The 2:00 bell rang sharply to signal the end of class, and all the students promptly poured out and headed to their varying destinations. Jay West, for his part, heaved a sigh of relief as he exited the classroom. "Whew! Finally, I can get a break!" he said aloud.

"You and me both, buddy," another student spoke up right at his shoulder. "So what's your plan for the rest of the day? Wanna go into town and hang out?"

Jay smirked a little at the questioner. "Not for now, Griffin," he replied. "I've got an appointment to keep in an hour's time."

Griffin Grey, a young man with spiky blond hair and who stood slightly taller than Jay, grinned and slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Ooohh, a date, is it?" he teased. "Today's only Monday, and already you're on a roll for the week! Good to go!"

"First of all, _ow; _I'm sore from an exercise run I had this morning," Jay said with a flinch as he was immediately reminded of his bruising from his previous fight with Brick. "Second of all, no, dude, it's not like it's a date or anything. I, uh, I have an errand to run down by the Flash Museum."

"The Flash Museum? Wow, man, that's pretty cool," Griffin remarked. "I hear they're supposed to decide whether to give him the power to arrest crooks. You think they will?"

"Who knows?" Jay shrugged.

"C'mon, Jay, you're not even trying to take it seriously, are you?" Griffin complained. "This is the Flash we're talking about—the most _schway_ superhero ever! I mean, look—Superman? Too old and boring. Batman? Too mysterious. But the Flash—now, _he's_ awesome!"

"Better not say that too loudly in Metropolis or Gotham City, or they'll get a lynch mob for you," Jay joked.

"Um, excuse me…"

Turning at the sound of the voice, the boys beheld a blond-haired, bespectacled young woman holding a textbook in one hand. "Oh—hey, Gail," Jay greeted her. "What's up?"

"Well, I saw you and was hoping to talk with you a little…that is, if you're not too busy," and Gail eyed Griffin.

"What? Oh, no, no, no, no, no, he's not busy in the least—in fact, I was just leaving," Griffin remarked. "Handle your business, my man, I'll catch you later," and he gave Jay a meaningful elbow and a chuckle as he walked off.

"Dude, it's not like that!" Jay yelled after him. Then he turned back to Gail. "Sorry about him—he likes to jump to conclusions."

"Uh…right." Gail blinked.

"So…what's on your mind? You said you wanted to talk," Jay prompted her.

"Oh—yes. Walk with me? I'm going to the library," said Gail.

"Starting another shift there?" asked Jay, as they started to walk together.

"No, actually, I need to study. I have a test coming up tomorrow," Gail explained. "Anyway…I met your brother Barry the other day. He told me some pretty interesting things about you."

Jay lifted an eyebrow. "Did he? And what exactly did he say?"

"In a nutshell, that you were one of the mean kids in high school, and that you still treat him that way on and off," said Gail.

"Ah…yeah…well…" Jay sighed. "He and I, we've talked about that."

"And?" asked Gail.

"I think I'd like us to have a better relationship than before, especially after this whole Rag Doll thing that happened last night…" Jay frowned as he recounted the events of the previous night, when the masked serial killer crashed his alumni party. "But I guess Barry's not amenable to that."

"You should give him a little time—if he's been used to being picked on by you for umpteen years, I don't think it's unreasonable that he won't know what to do when you suddenly decide you want to mend fences," Gail told him.

"Listen, I know I wasn't the nicest guy on the block back in high school. What am I supposed to do about it now? It's over and done with, isn't that right?" Jay wondered aloud.

"Not for everybody…for some people, the hurt from being bullied never goes away. And…" Gail got a thoughtful look in her eyes. "I have a feeling Barry's doing a pretty good job of hiding the hurt feelings he's had all these years, because he wants to be a nice guy."

"Well, he didn't exactly hide it from me when we talked on Saturday," said Jay.

"Permit me to give you some friendly advice, Jay…if you want people to like you, you have to make yourself likeable," said Gail.

Jay pushed his hands into his pockets and exhaled hard. "I could try that…except for the fact that some people only know me from my days as a jock," he grunted.

"If it helps…I've never been acquainted with the Jay that was a jock. I'm more familiar with the Jay that has a hidden sensitivity." A little smile appeared on Gail's lips. "Maybe you weren't that good an influence back then, but if you really want to, you can make an impact for here and now. It's never too late to start."

"Hmm." Jay gave her a look of consideration, before diverting his eyes elsewhere. "Hey, look, here we are at the library."

"Ah, so we are," replied Gail. "Well, thanks for walking with me, Jay. At least think over what I'm saying, okay? Promise?"

"Okay, I promise," said Jay, raising a hand to acquiesce to the point, even as he now watched her part ways with him and head inside the library's entrance.

OOOOO

Later that afternoon, the Flash rocketed toward the STAR Labs building, and immediately on entering its front entrance he noted how the damage from the fire it had recently sustained had since been repaired, just as Dr. Meersman had told him. He then took note that he'd startled the receptionist with his sudden entrance. "Oh—uh, sorry about that," he apologized. "I'm here to see Dr. Meersman, he's expecting me."

"Ah, yes, of course, he said you'd be coming by," the receptionist replied, having recovered somewhat from her initial surprise. "He's upstairs, on the second floor, in the simulator room. It's a big blue door on the left, just as you get onto that floor."

Nodding, Flash sped toward the staircase, and five seconds later he'd found the designated door and burst in. "Hey, Dr. Meersman, here I am!" he announced.

Inside, Dr. Meersman was clad in his white lab coat, accompanied by a young woman in similar attire; both of them turned on hearing Flash's voice. "Ah, hello, Flash," Dr. Meersman greeted the speedster. "Glad to see you've made it. I'd like to introduce you to a young lady who'll be working with the two of us in helping you better learn about and control your powers." He pointed to the young woman. "Say hello to Miss Daphne Dean, one of our part-time assistants."

"Hello, Flash!" Daphne beamed at him.

Remembering that his brother's girlfriend had previously established that she worked part-time at STAR Labs, Flash did his best not to visibly grimace. "Uh, hiya," he said to her. "We've met before…well, not in this kind of capacity, at least."

"Yes, Dr. Meersman, he saved our alumni get-together from that Rag Doll creep yesterday," Daphne informed the senior scientist.

"Then you'll both get along splendidly," said Dr. Meersman, nodding with approval.

Now Flash took in the room they were standing in—a huge space filled with blue tiles. "So, uh, the receptionist said this was a simulator room…looks kinda dull and dizzying at the same time."

"Allow me to explain what the room does," said Dr. Meersman. "A few years ago, the US government asked STAR Labs to create a virtual training simulator, to replicate varying combat situations for our military troops. Our branch here in Central City had a hand in designing some of the more, ahem, risky aspects of the training program, and at the end of it we were allowed to keep a patch of the program to use in training our local police department. We still have that patch here for the police's use, but when you emerged in Central City last month, I took it upon myself to modify the program somewhat to allow you a means of training if you ever needed one."

"So what exactly does this version that you've got for me entail?" Flash wanted to know.

"Right now, it's got hard-light holographic representations of some of the old members of your predecessor's rogues' gallery—the villains he had to fight in his heyday," said Dr. Meersman.

"That means you'll get to face off against holographic versions of people like Mirror Master, Captain Cold, Heatwave, Captain Boomerang, the Pied Piper, and others," Daphne put in. "And they may be holograms, but they'll be able to hit you back _and_ hurt you. It'll all be non-lethal, of course, since we'll be manning the controls from our control room, right next door to here."

"Old villains, huh? So what about my own enemies?" asked Flash.

"We can input the data for them in no time—in fact, anytime you're ready, just come to the control room with me and tell me everything you know about the enemies you've fought so far, what they look like, what their gadgets and powers are, and I'll adjust the program patch for you," said Daphne.

"Yes, that would definitely be useful," said Dr. Meersman. "At the same time, don't discredit the old Flash's enemies—nearly all of them were able to give him some very difficult fights. For example, Captain Cold was the very first enemy he had to fight, and that man is still counted among Flash enthusiasts today as one of the more dangerous members of the Scarlet Speedster's rogues…why, he was actually able to fight Orion, one of the stronger members of the Justice League, to a standstill using his cold-guns, and likewise you never know when _you _may have to face off against a similarly-powered enemy."

"Mmm-hmm," Flash nodded. "All right, Daphne, let's go input that data for my rogues, eh?"

They all went out of the simulator room together and headed to a neighboring door, which led to another room wherein there was a wide network of computers all joined together at one large terminal. "This will actually be very good for you to record the enemies you've fought, Flash," said Daphne. "Every superhero has his or her personal rogues' gallery, and it was probably inevitable that you'd develop one at some point. The more you practice against their hard-light holograms here in this simulator, the better you'll be able to handle them whenever you have to fight them for real."

"So true," said Dr. Meersman, adjusting his glasses slightly. "Now, Flash, start thinking of the villains you've faced so far, and try to remember what they look like and what their powers are so Daphne can do the inputting. Daphne, are you ready?"

"Already ready, Dr. Meersman," said Daphne, sliding into a seat in front of the terminal and powering on one of the computer monitors. "Aaaaand…okay, go ahead, Flash."

Flash thought back to the enemies he'd faced since he'd first put on his suit—Trickster, Shockwave, Gunhawk, Rag Doll, and Brick—and described their costumes and abilities as best he could remember. "Well, there's Trickster, an unpredictable moron who made the papers from the day of the museum opening—as far as his weaponry gets, you can surprise me. The others are more standard; Shockwave had vibro-cannons in his gloves, Gunhawk's got a sniper rifle, Rag Doll had knives and could bend himself weirdly—as you should remember, Daphne—and then there's the Brick…"

"The Brick? The mob boss everybody's afraid of?" Daphne cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. He's super-strong and super-tough, plain and simple." Flash looked off to one side. "Pretty weak number of enemies, though, huh? I'm sure Batman and Superman have more enemies between the two of them than I do on my own…"

"You've only been in operation a little less than a month so far—that's not enough time to build a huge number of villains, son," said Dr. Meersman. "As time goes by, you'll doubtless fight against more enemies. Oh, Daphne, could you ensure that any data you input on Trickster doesn't clash with the data we have on the original Trickster, James Jesse?"

"Already done, sir," said Daphne, "and the data for those other villains are getting inputted…right…about…done! And with that, your very own rogues' gallery list is here, ready to use for combat simulations whenever you like!"

"Cool," said Flash. "All right…Dr. Meersman, you said you wanted to help me get a better idea of what my suit's capable of. What do you suggest we start with?"

The scientist looked at his watch. "It's now 3:15. Do you have any other engagements to get to right away?"

"Uh, no," said Flash.

"Good. Neither do we." Dr. Meersman crossed his arms and nodded. "In that case, Daphne and I will put you through every conceivable scenario we can think of, until 5:30. And we won't hold back, will we, Daphne?"

"I'd say not," Daphne replied, grinning a little before becoming a bit more serious. "Look at it like this, Flash—your enemies won't hold back against you, so don't expect us to hold back on anything short of actually causing you grievous bodily harm. If you can't deal with it, then you only managed to wing it here by luck up to this point, and luck can only get a superhero so far without actual skill to accompany it."

Flash had a brief moment of gratitude that Daphne didn't know who he was behind his mask. _She'd probably sic me against the Grim Reaper with no means of winning…_

OOOOO

The afternoon passed. The blue sky gradually turned yellow, then orange, and then gradually deepening shades of red as the day soon gave way to sunset. The last of the Gedde Natural History Museum's day-staff employees drove out of the parking lot, leaving only the evening-shift security guards to take up their duties inside the facility. There were eight night guards in total, working in pairs, with each team set to patrol a different quadrant of the museum to ensure that all was kosher. One of those pairs was assigned to the immediate front entrance, and the two guards now took up their positions, one sitting close by and one standing.

"All right, another night of us, the other guys, and these exhibits," one of the guards commented as he casually swung his baton around in his hand.

The other guard yawned. "Man, what a boring job…nothing exciting ever happens on these shifts," he grunted.

"Quit complaining—at least you _have_ a job," the first guard scolded him. "And you can at least entertain yourself by reading up on the history of the artifacts that are here."

"What's to know? They're from years long gone, some created by old dead people," the second guard intoned.

"You failed history in school, didn't you?" the first guard needled him.

"What? You're telling me that subject's worth studying?" The second guard sounded incredulous.

"Duh!" the first guard answered. "All right, tell me, who was the forty-second president?"

"Come on, seriously? That's an easy one!" the second guard retorted. "It was…uh…it was the one who…errr…"

The first guard gave him a disgusted look. "The one who got Man of the Year in 1993…" he prompted.

Suddenly their attention was arrested by approaching footfalls, and they looked up—and were treated to a strange sight. Coming toward them was a woman in a white body vest with outward-extending shoulder-pads, fishnet-stockings, red sunglasses, red gloves, a red belt with large pouches, and red boots—but the oddest thing about her was her hairstyle, which appeared to consist of three black Mohawk cuts, one right on top of her head and two on the sides, and a tuft of black hair at the back. "Evening, boys," she greeted them.

Both men were immediately on their guard. "Ma'am, the museum's closed now…" the second guard said warily, his hand reaching for his radio in case he had to call the other guards.

"Now, now, don't you know your own museum curator?" the woman asked in a seemingly hurt voice, removing her sunglasses so they could get a better look at her face.

The first guard immediately recognized who she was. "Oh! Uh, sorry, Ms. Pye; didn't know it was you."

"It was the hair, wasn't it?" Maggie pointed to her strange hairstyle. "I just thought I'd try something different for the evening."

The two guards looked at each other. They'd heard that the curator was eccentric, but this was pushing the envelope. "Uh, well…what brings you back here? We were told you'd already left for the day," the second guard remarked.

"I did, but it turns out I needed to come back for something," Maggie answered. "You don't mind if I go and fetch it, do you? It's just further inside, is all."

"Sure, no problem," and the guards now stepped aside to let her pass.

"You're both such sweethearts. Oh, by the way, here's a little gift from me to you, just to say thank you…" The woman reached into one of her belt-pouches, pulled out two green gems, and handed one to each guards. "Ta!" and she sauntered off into the museum.

The guards looked on as she left, and then looked down at the gems. "You do realize these are fake, right?" the first guard asked.

"Hey, it's Ms. Pye. We can humor her, at least," the second guard shrugged—just at the moment when the two "gems" began emitting a strange green smoke that invaded their senses and caused their vision to blur and darken seconds later…

OOOOO

"Whew!" Flash whistled as he cruised along the sidewalk on his evening patrol. _That training session was tough…oh, well, I'll soon get home. Just gotta do one more sweep of the city, then I'll call it a day. But, sheesh, did Daphne and the doc have to sic all of my enemies on me all at once? Lucky for me they were only holograms, or else…_

He shook his head as he continued running along. _Ah, well, maybe next time I go to STAR Labs, I can do a test on just how fast I can run…although there probably won't be enough track in the world for that…_ and he chuckled a little at the idea.

He was jogging along at super-speed toward the city's Mounds View district, directly southeast from STAR Labs' location in the Westminster area. Now, as he passed the border between Mounds View and the city centre on its northern side, he caught a glimpse of the Gedde Natural History Museum, looming just ahead of him. _Hmm…I remember we took a field trip there once, back in seventh grade…I wonder if the place is as dull and boring as I remember it? Ah, well, I guess it won't hurt to just glance in at the front door and make sure the place's security guards are doing what the museum pays them to do._

With that thought, he zipped ahead and was soon in front of the museum's main entrance—and got treated to a strange sight. Through the glass doors, he could see two security guards inside, slumped on the floor, evidently unconscious. "That's unexpected," he muttered under his breath, zipping through the doors and entering the museum. "Hey, guys, this isn't the time to take a nap—wake up," he urged the guards.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response from either of them—but just then Flash noticed two green gems near the men's bodies, with wisps of green smoke slowly leaking out from them. "…the heck…?" he whispered, bending down to pick up one of the gems—and then he stopped himself. "Nope, nope, nope, don't touch anything. This is a crime scene."

Suddenly he heard loud footsteps further inside. "And the criminal must still be here," he scowled, stepping over the guards' bodies and dashing further inside.

As he passed through the museum's corridors, he glanced from left to right, keeping a sharp eye out for any intruder he might come across…and he passed by two more guards, similarly fallen unconscious, with mysterious gemstones close to their bodies. Eyes narrowing, he stopped where he was and listened…and a moment later he heard echoing footsteps again, heading even deeper inside. "What's this person planning to steal?" he asked himself aloud as he ran in the direction of the footsteps.

As he rounded a corner, he got his answer: there was a woman in a white outfit, with a bizarre hairstyle, just picking up a glass display-case lid from the huge diamond it had been covering. "Ahem," he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman froze where she was. Then, very slowly, she turned her head to look at him. "Oh…the Flash?" she spoke up. "Fancy meeting you here. I thought the guards would be the worst I'd have to contend with."

"Who are you and what do you think you're doing?" Flash asked pointedly.

The woman smiled a little. "You can call me Magpie. I'm just a little birdie who likes pretty things."

"Well, from what I'm seeing, you're a little birdie that ought to be in a cage." Flash frowned deeply. "Now put that thing back where you got it."

Shrugging, Magpie made as if to replace the glass lid—but suddenly she flung it at Flash, who easily grabbed it out of the air, rushed up to the diamond display, replaced the lid over the diamond, and grabbed the woman's wrist with one hand, all in the space of two seconds. "Wow, you _are_ as fast as the reports said!" Magpie exclaimed, sounding impressed.

"But clearly you're not very bright," Flash rebutted, his grip on her wrist tightening. "Now, why don't you and I head to the nearest precinct for a nice cup of coffee and a chat with the police?"

"Sorry. I'm more of a tea-lady," said Magpie—and with her free hand she swiftly dug into one of her belt-pouches, produced a clear diamond, held it up to Flash's face, and put pressure on one side of it with her thumb. The next thing Flash knew, a bright flash of light blinded him, startling him into letting go of Magpie's arm…and then he doubled over as he felt a heavy knee-thrust into his crotch, causing him to drop to the floor even as Magpie's rapidly-departing footsteps caught his ears.

"Grr…" Blinking rapidly as his vision came back into focus, Flash gingerly rose to his feet and cringed at the ache in his groin from Magpie's knee attack. "You're gonna regret that!" he yelled after her.

The woman's departing footsteps echoed from elsewhere in the museum. Listening keenly, Flash zipped after her, wincing from the enduring soreness where he'd been kneed. But as he rounded a corner, he was just in time to narrowly dodge aside as two flat-edged yellow gems flew at his head, embedding into the wall behind him instead of in his skull. Turning briefly to look at the two gems, the speedster shook his head. "Gems with gimmicks? That's new," he commented.

From somewhere close by, Magpie's voice echoed into his ears. "I spent quite a bit of time working on those gimmicked gems, Flash," she told him. "If I can't have the real deal for myself, I may as well have the fake ones, right? Only now, I've put the fakes to good use so they won't be just cheap, shiny trinkets anymore."

"Uh-huh…all right, so you're a girl who likes her jewelry. I get that," said Flash, as he cautiously walked along the corridor, keeping an eye out in case more unusual gems came along. "But does that give you any right to steal from a museum?"

"I'm not stealing, Flash—I'm just collecting what's owed to me," Magpie countered. "I've kept an eye on all these artifacts for this museum for years, you see. Every jewel, every statue, every painting, every pottery shard—I've maintained them for the Gedde Museum for a long time. And what have I gotten in return? All these beautiful things, within fingertip's reach, and I can never possess any of them for my own. And yet I get paid a mere _fraction_ of what these things are truly worth, for all the time I spend overseeing them! So I'm here to take my due…and I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let anybody get in my way—including you!"

Suddenly, from somewhere above Flash, a big blue diamond came hurtling down, clattering on the floor in front of him. Flash was immediately on his guard as he beheld the diamond, which had a blinking red light in its centre.

_Blinking. Red. Light._ His eyes widened in sudden panic. _Run. Run! RUN!_

He turned and ran—seconds before the diamond exploded, with the force of the blast knocking him off his feet and throwing him to the ground. On the stairwell above the speedster, Magpie pulled out two more blue diamonds, pressed two transparent switches on their faces, and flung them down where Flash was; he, meanwhile, hearing the gemstones clattering on the floor, swiftly picked himself up and dashed away right before the gems exploded with double the force. Wasting no time, Magpie ran to another section of the stairwell until she was on the floor-level immediately above where Flash was; digging into her belt-pouch, she produced three more flat-edged yellow gems and flung them down at him. However, Flash dodged aside and evaded the gems, which sank into the floor tiles as they hit.

Gathering his bearings again, Flash dashed for the staircase and ran up them to reach where Magpie was, just in time to see her throw three purple gems his way. Those gems immediately burst open, revealing numerous tiny circular blades sailing at him; immediately he ducked, and they went sailing over his head. But as he straightened up again, he was completely unprepared for the red boot that swung toward his face; and he got knocked right back down the stairs until he fell on the landing with a pained grunt. Magpie promptly dashed down the stairs, pulling a large pink-colored gem from her belt, and ran around to where Flash lay dazed on the floor. Stooping down, she pressed the gem to his chest and applied pressure to a hidden switch on the gem…then Flash screamed out as an electrical current ripped through his body.

"My specially rigged volt-gem," Magpie explained coolly. "Just a little more exposure and you'll pass out from the pain. I spent weeks perfecting this one—I'm glad to see it works like it shouAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

In the midst of getting shocked, Flash had managed through his agony to reach his hand up and grab Magpie on her thigh; the unexpected sharing of jolting energy flung her off, even as the pink gem was jarred from her grip and scuttled across the floor. Wincing from the pain where Flash's grip on her leg had caused the electric shock to hit her, Magpie only barely had time to register when he thrust his feet forward and kicked her in the chest, causing her to slide along the floor.

"Ugh…" Shivering even as he shook off the after-effect of being electrocuted, Flash gingerly rose to his feet and regarded Magpie, still on the floor. "That…was not pleasant."

"Ow, ow, ow…" Magpie gingerly touched her leg where she'd gotten the electric jolt…and only then became aware of the speedster standing over her. Immediately she reached for another pouch on her belt—but just as her fingers touched the belt, the next thing she knew, all the pouches were stripped off and Flash was dumping them on the floor.

"Um…heh, heh, heh…" Now suddenly sheepish, Magpie stood up very slowly while Flash glowered at her. "I'm unarmed, Flash…I'm giving up, see?" she asked, raising her hands in surrender.

For answer she got a full-fledged fist to the nose, sending her crashing to the floor. "Yeah, well, considering you were just trying to kill me, I think I'll play it safe," Flash said flatly, glaring at Magpie's now-unconscious form.

"Hey, over here! Quickly!"

Turning, Flash saw four of the museum's security guards running over to where he was, followed by another four moments later. "It's the Flash!" one of them cried. "And there's that double-crossing witch, too!"

"Hey, guys," Flash greeted them. "Relax, I'm not here to rob the place."

"But _she_ was—our own curator, at that," and another of the guards gave Magpie a contemptuous glare. "She gave us these gems, and then they started spewing some weird kind of gas or smoke or something, and we got knocked out…"

"She abused your trust in her. Yeah, that sucks." Flash shook his head. "You called the police?"

"Already done," a third guard assured him.

"All right. Then I'll baby-sit her and you guys do a double-check of the museum, just to make sure nothing's out of sorts," said Flash, and he stooped down next to the unconscious Magpie even as three of the guards now walked off to follow up on his suggestion; the remaining five lingered nearby, now unwilling to let the woman out of their sights.

OOOOO

Later on that evening…

"_Coming up in our prime-time news package: museum robbery foiled; museum curator arrested in aftermath," _the virtual news anchor declared on the TV. _"Also coming up: the result of the Central-Keystone city councils' vote for deputizing the Flash; we'll tell you what the vote result is…and in international news, Kasnian embassy bombed in Japan. All this and much more, coming up after these messages…"_

The dark-haired man, sporting gray on his temples, was seated at a computer table in his living room, when he briefly paused in his typing and looked at the TV as the commercial break started. Smiling a little, he turned back to what he was writing and, in a moment, his fingers were deftly dancing along the keyboard keys, typing out one whole paragraph after another. He might have been up in age, he figured, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a competent writer if he wanted to be.

"_Welcome back!"_ the news anchor spoke again. _"We begin this evening with a developing story: a little over an hour ago, the Flash—the Scarlet Speedster of the Central-Keystone area—stopped a robbery at Central City's Gedde Museum of Natural History. But in an astonishing twist, the would-be robber turned out to be someone well-known to the museum—its own curator. More in this report…"_

A video clip then came up on the screen, showing police officers herding a woman with a bizarre hairstyle, in handcuffs, into the back of a police van. _"Earlier this evening, at about 6:15 p.m., this woman made an attempt to steal a highly valuable diamond from the Gedde Museum of Natural History in Central City. According to reports, she gained entry to the museum by overcoming the security personnel with knockout gas, then tried to steal this diamond…" _A graphic of a valuable-looking gemstone, with a centre-flaw resembling a bird in flight, appeared on the screen. _"…the White Dove Diamond, which is currently the world's most valuable diamond at 600 carats."_

A moment later, a video was played of the woman throwing all manner of gimmicked gemstones at the Flash, who meantime was dodging them as best he could. _"Fortunately, quick intervention by the Fastest Man Alive led to the capture of the woman, who had identified herself as Magpie and, as our contributed video shows, utilized deadly trick gems in the subsequent battle."_

Then another picture came up, showing the same woman in a police mug-shot, and now sporting a full head of red hair and a surly expression on her face. _"But what's shocking for the museum is the true identity of the thief—Margaret Pye, the curator of the very museum that she sought to steal from. Prior to the robbery attempt, Ms. Pye had worked with the museum for approximately seven years, but up to news-time no clear motive has yet been established for her turn to crime. When contacted for comment, the museum's owners would only say that, if Ms. Pye is convicted, her employment with them will be summarily terminated. At this hour, the police are still questioning her and taking statements from the guards who were on duty at the time of the attempted robbery, but it is expected that Ms. Pye will be formally charged. Our sources in the Central City Police Department have told our news-centre that she may face charges of armed robbery, burglary, larceny by trick, vandalism, and assault with a deadly weapon."_

Watching this, the man sighed and shook his head. "Youngsters…crazier and crazier nowadays," he sighed aloud. "Nothing like back in my day…ah, well, that's how the world turns, I guess. Anyway, Mr. Kent, time to add a little more to this new book…"

OOOOO

"_Today's discussion between the Central City and Keystone City councils, to vote on whether to give the Flash deputized status as a crime-fighter for the two cities, ended this afternoon with a majority vote from the council members in favor of officially sanctioning the Scarlet Speedster's costumed fight against crime for both cities."_

All the patrons inside Central City's _Cedric's Diner_ burst out in loud cheering, almost drowning out the news anchor's next statement: _"In a joint release to all local media-houses, Central City mayor Jasmine Russell and Keystone mayor Uriah Gayle said, quote, 'We are pleased to announce that the vote to deputize the Flash at today's combined meeting of our two city councils has ended with a 17 to 3 vote in favor of the motion. In keeping with the result of the vote, an official ceremony will be held, at a date to be announced, to formally induct the Flash as the official superhero protector of Central and Keystone Cities, just like his predecessor before him."_

OOOOO

"A date to be announced, hmm?" the Brick chuckled, swirling his brandy in his glass as he watched the news report in his office. "Well, Flash, now I'm even more certain that our paths will cross a lot more frequently. It's just a matter of watching…and waiting." He swirled the brandy again. "But for now…a toast to your success." And then he raised the glass to his lips and sipped the beverage.

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 13**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—different people provide different responses to the news of Flash being approved by the Central-Keystone city councils to fight crime in the area! But while Jay himself absorbs the idea and hears responses in both his civilian and costumed identities, he inadvertently finds himself caught in a potentially lethal situation! Next chapter—_Circle-Trap!_

(Character commentary: Forgot to mention it in the previous chapter, but in the comics Dr. Robert Meersman was the original founder of STAR Labs; credit goes to Wikipedia for providing that info. Also, in the comics Magpie was originally a curator for a museum in Gotham City before she turned to crime, and she was a member of Superman's and Batman's rogues galleries; here, she's been given gadgetry not unlike the Golden Glider, a female Flash villain who in the comics used gimmicked jewelry and razor-sharp ice-skates as weapons. Finally, in the comics Griffin Grey was an acquaintance of Bart Allen's who became a super-villain motivated by a desire to snatch the spotlight away from the Flash.)


	14. Circle-Trap

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 14: Circle-Trap**

"Good morning, sweetheart," Laura West greeted her husband, giving him a brief peck on the cheek as she set his coffee mug down at his place at the table. "How's my favorite lawman today?"

Commissioner Maxwell West chuckled as he sat down, picking up the coffee mug and taking a sip from it. "Your favorite lawman is as well-rested as he can get for today," he replied, reaching for the morning edition of the _Central City Chronicle_. "All right, let's see…_City councils green-light the Flash,"_ he read the front-page headline. "Hmm. Somehow, I'm not at all surprised. He's become quite a figure since he appeared at the fiftieth anniversary of the Flash Museum."

"And how do you feel about it?" Laura queried, sitting down next to him with her breakfast plate while she handed him his own plate.

"Ah, thank you, dear," said Maxwell, regarding the boiled egg, baked beans and toast on his plate. "Now, then, how I feel about this headline…are you asking my opinion as police commissioner, or as your husband?"

"Now, now, don't try to skirt around it. Just tell me how you feel," and Laura propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand while giving her husband a cheeky smirk.

Maxwell picked up his fork, took a heaping of baked beans together with a piece of egg into his mouth, and followed it up with a bite of toast. "Personally, I still have some reservations about some young guy in a mask and a red suit running around and doing a policeman's job," he said matter-of-factly once he'd swallowed his mouthful of food, "but if that's what the city councils have voted on, then I'm just a servant of the people—who am I to say nay?"

"Well, that sounds like a balanced-enough response," said Laura, now picking up her own fork to start eating.

"I'm surprised you're not doing celebratory cartwheels around the house—I know you're a big fan of the Flash," said Maxwell.

"I'll leave the cartwheels to the kids—I'm not so young anymore," Laura admitted. "Still, I believe it's a good move. If Metropolis can have Superman as its sanctioned superhero and Gotham City has accepted the Batman, as well as other cities having their costumed heroes, why not the Flash in this area?"

"I suppose that it was inevitable, given Central City's history with the previous speedster," sighed Maxwell.

"And don't forget how he saved our lives at the Central City High School alumni party on Sunday night," Laura reminded him.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten," Maxwell assured her. "I guess I just need some time to get used to this."

OOOOO

"Morning, Curtis," Detective Thaddeus Hunter grunted as he climbed into his police partner's car.

"Morning, kid," Detective Frank Curtis answered the younger officer. "You look like somebody dropped an unwelcome gift on your table today."

"In a manner of speaking, that's just what happened," and Hunter reached into his coat and began to pull out a rolled-up newspaper—but he stopped when he saw a similar newspaper on the car's dashboard. "Oh. So you got a hold of today's _Chronicle,_ too."

Curtis smiled wryly at his partner. "I guess I don't need to ask for your take on this turn of events."

Hunter snorted. "That majority vote was an idiot's vote. So now what, we're just supposed to sanction some masked vigilante running around the place doing _our_ job?"

"Well, the city reps have done it," said Curtis, "so technically he's been legalized."

"I don't care if he's legalized—we'd be a lot better off without freaks like him running around like loose cannons," Hunter said angrily, then just as suddenly put a hand to his head. "Ow…now I'm getting a headache because of that guy."

"Still not totally over that concussion, huh?" Curtis asked sympathetically.

"You ought to know—that Rag Doll creep bashed our heads together Sunday night, remember? Or maybe you got memory loss from it," Hunter said snidely.

"Nothing a day's worth of doctor-prescribed bed-rest and some aspirins couldn't deal with," chuckled Curtis. "And it helps that I'm not letting something like this," indicating the newspaper, "get to my head."

"Well, you can be laidback about this if you want, but I'm still going to watch Flash like a hawk," Hunter vowed. "Sooner or later, he'll _have_ to slip up and reveal to everybody what kind of guy he really is. And when that happens, I've got a pair of cuffs with his name on them, ready to use."

"I just hope you won't ever need to use them," Curtis said dryly, earning another snort from his partner in reply.

OOOOO

"All rise!" the court bailiff barked, as the black-robed judge emerged from his chambers and climbed the steps leading to his seat on the bench. "This court is now in session, the honorable Judge Marcus Darrows presiding. You may be seated."

Settling himself into his chair, Judge Darrows, a stern-faced man of mixed-racial descent, glanced over at the court clerk. "Begin the case-list, please," he instructed the man.

"Yes, your honor," the clerk answered, picking up a sheet of paper and looking at it. "Docket number CC-652 of 55, your honor, the matter of Axel Walker…"

"Wait, wait," Judge Darrows interrupted, waving a hand while his face sported a disbelieving look. "Axel Walker? _Again? _Where is he?"

In the prisoner's dock, the handcuffed Axel Walker looked on with a totally bored expression on his face. He'd been to court so many times that he knew the whole procedure by heart; the only surprise to him was that they'd have dealt with his matter so quickly, right at the top of the list at that. Then again, considering he'd taken up the mantle of the Trickster and gone on a rampage at the Flash Museum's 50th anniversary opening last month, he supposed it wouldn't be that much of a surprise that he'd be given so much priority.

"Stand up, sir," the clerk instructed him, and with a shrug he did so.

"Oh, great, and here I thought I was going to have a good day today," groaned Judge Darrows. "What are the charges this time?"

"Aggravated assault, malicious destruction of property, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery, hostage-taking, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and littering," the clerk read from the paper.

The judge sighed. "How does the defendant plea?"

"Guilty on all charges," Axel spoke up.

"That's what I thought," grumbled Judge Darrow. "Will the clerk please outline the circumstances?"

"According to the report, on Thursday, October 14, the defendant attacked the 50th anniversary reopening of the Flash Museum," said the clerk. "During the attack, he stole and used several items from the museum's villain-display of the Trickster, caused an explosion that damaged a number of the museum's other exhibits, disobeyed five police officers' orders to surrender, incapacitated said officers as well as District Attorney Gregory Wolfe and Mayor Jasmine Russell, and threatened Mr. Wolfe's safety with a spray-can containing a dangerous substance."

"What substance was that?" asked Judge Darrow.

"According to the report from the forensic team that covered the scene afterward, the substance in the spray-can was acid," said the clerk.

"I see." The judge's look was grim. "And just out of curiosity, where does the littering charge come in?"

"The defendant threw several banana peels around the museum, causing a number of patrons to slip and fall and sustain varying bruises and scrapes," the clerk clarified.

"Hmm." Now Judge Darrow gave Axel a hard glare. "You've been a very busy fellow since the last time I saw you, haven't you, Mr. Walker?"

"Well, you know what they say about idle hands," Axel answered with a little chuckle.

"You find this funny? You think this is a joke?" Judge Darrow demanded. "Well, I'd advise you to keep your amusement to yourself as long as you're standing in front of me, because you're not helping yourself with that. And wipe that smirk off your face! Now, then—do you have a lawyer?"

"I represent the accused man, your honor," a red-haired female lawyer sitting in the bench just in front of the prisoner's dock replied, now standing up. "Maxine Gibson, of McGinnis and Gibson in Gotham City."

"Yes, Ms. Gibson, I know who you are—your reputation precedes you," said Judge Darrow. "But you're going to be hard-pressed to make a convincing case for your client—he just pleaded guilty, after all. Besides, you're not the first lawyer he's ever hired to represent him, and your predecessors all failed to make very convincing cases whenever he was brought before me. I'm afraid he's dragged you out of Gotham for nothing."

"We're not denying Mr. Walker's guilt or his admission thereof, your honor…however, I'm here to ask for leniency on his behalf," answered Ms. Gibson.

"Leniency? Have you even _looked_ at his file?" Judge Darrow asked incredulously.

"I have, your honor," Ms. Gibson asked calmly. "I am aware that Mr. Walker has had several past convictions for charges of this nature. However, I am asking for leniency in light of the circumstances that led to him committing this latest set of crimes."

"I assume you refer to his social enquiry report," Judge Darrow scoffed. "Please, Ms. Gibson—I've seen the report, and it's exactly the same as the reports that were compiled when he was convicted before me in the past. His parents broke apart due to marital unfaithfulness, and he had adjustment troubles in school. So what? I've personally known people whose parents divorced during their childhood because of affairs, and I've known people who went through peer pressure and bullying at school—and none of _them_ ever turned to crime or chose to lash out at society for it."

"If I may, your honor, not everybody responds to the same set of circumstances the same way," said Ms. Gibson. "My client, for example, performed his most recent actions out of a desire to expose what he saw as hypocrisy on the part of society. That he chose to take on the name of a long-gone super-criminal, the Trickster, and dressed up likewise is just evidence that his desperation to prove his point had gone to his head—a sort of momentary insanity, if you will."

Axel rolled his eyes as he listened to his lawyer's argument.

"At the time of the attack on the Flash Museum, Mr. Walker was suffering from a diminished sense of proper mental capacity, influenced by his strong belief in his philosophy about the hypocrisy of society," added Ms. Gibson. "He became so focused on proving his philosophy that he lost sight of what the law stipulates for everyone."

But Judge Darrow shook his head. "If he was a first-time offender, maybe you could convince me of that…but that he's had convictions for past violent crimes, and that he had enough presence of mind to threaten to spray the D.A. himself with acid, negates your argument totally. If he really believes in his philosophy about people being hypocrites, then maybe he should look in the mirror before pointing fingers anywhere else."

"Then I take it your honor won't consider a bail application for my client?" asked Ms. Gibson.

"So he can go out and cause more mayhem? I don't think so," said Judge Darrow.

The lawyer chuckled a little. "Well, you know, your honor, there's that new costumed crime-fighter who's right here in Central City, the Flash…just the knowledge that he's out there would keep Mr. Walker on his Ps and Qs while he's out on bail, wouldn't you say? Plus, I hear the Flash has now gotten city council approval from both Central City and Keystone City."

Axel's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Flash.

"Yes, I saw the morning news concerning that," said Judge Darrow. "If the Flash wants to run around in a red jumpsuit to fight crime, that's his business, as long as he's not breaking the law—and I know what the law says about vigilantism, but we're talking about someone who's gotten a city council vote for him to do what he's doing, so that no longer applies unless they decide to revoke it. But in the meantime, it would be remiss of me to rely solely on one man to keep the peace around here without doing my own part as a judge of the law…and as the judge in this courtroom, I say that Mr. Walker is going to stay right where he is in the state's custody, until when he should come back for sentencing."

"Very well…what date is your honor suggesting?" asked Ms. Gibson, opening her diary's calendar.

"Hmm…today's November 2…how about next week Monday, November 8?" asked Judge Darrow, consulting his own diary.

"That is convenient, your honor," said Ms. Gibson, on examining the date in her diary.

"Very well. Mr. Walker, your matter is set for sentencing next week Monday, November 8, and you are remanded in custody until then," announced Judge Darrow. "Next case."

As she now gathered her documents together to leave the courtroom, Max heaved a small sigh and felt internally glad that this sociopath who'd hired her to defend him would soon be behind bars where, as far as she was concerned, he rightly belonged. She really didn't care to have to put up with being his legal representative much longer, never mind the legal fee she'd be collecting after all was said and done.

_I wonder if that makes me one of the hypocrites he dislikes so much,_ she mentally deadpanned.

For Axel's part, as the handcuffs were placed on him and he was led out of the courtroom, his thoughts were much, much blacker. _Flash…you've made a big mistake in making an enemy out of me. I'll get you yet…you and all the hypocrites…just wait. Just wait!_

OOOOO

District Attorney Gregory Wolfe sat calmly in his office, reading the _Chronicle,_ when suddenly there was a knock on his office door. "Come in," he announced, setting the paper down.

A moment later his secretary came in. "Sir, the court clerk just sent this update on the Axel Walker case for you," she told him, handing him a folded piece of paper.

D.A. Wolfe took the paper from her, unfolded it and read its contents. "Judge Darrow denied him bail, and he's to be sentenced next week. Good. Serves the little brat right." He crushed the paper and tossed it into his nearby wastepaper basket.

The secretary then took note of the newspaper on D.A. Wolfe's desk. "Pardon me, sir, but were you reading that story on the Flash vote by the city councils?" she inquired.

"I was," D.A. Wolfe answered.

"What do you think, sir? Isn't it exciting?" the secretary asked, her face lighting up a little.

"It's neither here nor there for me," the D.A. shrugged. "As long as he doesn't do anything to break the law from this point on, I can go along with the decision of the two mayors and their council members."

"Yes, sir," the secretary responded, more subdued now on seeing her boss's neutral expression. "Excuse me." And then she was gone, leaving D.A. Wolfe in isolation even as he picked up the newspaper and resumed reading.

OOOOO

Over at the Central City University's cafeteria, Barry West took a food tray and walked over to the food-servers' line. "Hi, Daphne," he greeted the girl in front of him.

"Hey, Barry," Daphne Dean smiled in reply. "Have you heard the news? The Flash—"

"Has gotten city council approval to fight crime in our area," Barry interrupted. "Yeah, I know. Everybody on campus has been talking about it all morning."

"That's so _schway,_ isn't it?" Daphne grinned. "Now the Flash can go arrest criminals, and he doesn't have to worry about getting arrested himself for being a vigilante!"

"Hey, I'd still think he was awesome even if they _didn't_ sanction him," Barry told her.

"So then you'd be supporting a criminal, isn't that right, carrot-top?" a familiar voice chuckled behind Barry, and on turning, he saw that it was his blond-haired twin brother Jay.

"Hello, Jay," sighed Daphne. "Let Barry gush about the Flash if he wants to, would you? Just because you're not a fan doesn't mean you should criticize those who are."

"Hey, it's not like I dislike the idea of the Flash being an appointed crime-fighter or anything—I'm just hearing enough Flash-praise from enough people here at school alone to fill the whole world," Jay shrugged.

"Aw, don't be such a Flash-Grinch, Jay," another young man spoke up, approaching them with his own tray in hand.

"And behold, John Fox, basketball star of Central City University, who comes second only to my twin brother for fan dedication to the Flash," Jay addressed the newcomer.

"Never mind Jay, he hasn't had his shots yet," Barry remarked. "How goes it, John?"

"Eh, you know; the usual. Basketball practice, homework, projects to do, all of that," said John. "What about you guys?"

"Basically the same, except for the basketball practice, of course," Barry replied.

"I'm balancing my school time with my part-time work at STAR Labs," Daphne told the others. "And I'm actually helping the Flash to train his powers now," she added in a low voice, but with a big smile on her face.

Jay gave her a knowing look. "I hope you don't plan to run him ragged," he said.

"And I thought you didn't care about the Flash," Daphne replied, eyeing him.

"I'd be concerned about anybody who comes under _your_ care," Jay sniped.

Daphne glared at Jay, but Barry prevented her from stepping toward his brother. "Be cool, Daphne, be cool," he admonished her.

By and by the quartet got their desired lunch items and headed for the nearest available tables, but suddenly a voice from near a window-seat caught their attention. "Hey, Jay! How's about you and your buddies come join me over here?" Griffin Grey invited them, a bright grin plastered on his face.

"Who's that?" Barry wondered.

"Just one of my classmates. C'mon, let's take him up on his invite," said Jay, and he hoisted his tray and went over to Griffin's table, the others following behind him. "Thanks much, Griff," he said.

"No prob," Griffin nodded. "And what have we here?" he added, looking past the others to the cafeteria's entrance.

The others turned to look where Griffin was indicating, and beheld a blond-haired girl taking up a lunch tray to get her own food. "Hey, Jay, isn't that your friend Gail Manners?" Barry asked his twin.

"What's this, now? Does Jay have a girlfriend?" John grinned at Jay.

"She is not my girlfriend. She's just somebody I met at the library," Jay answered defensively.

"Will wonders never cease?" asked Daphne. "But I'm glad to know she's not your girlfriend—I'd be concerned about anybody who gets into a relationship with _you."_

"You jealous?" Jay smirked, earning him another glare from Daphne.

"Hey, Jay, don't just stand there—invite the girl over! Let us all get to know her, huh, pal?" Griffin prompted.

"Right, right." Jay set his tray down and walked over to where Gail was in the line. "Hey, Gail."

Gail started. "Oh! Uh, hi, Jay," she replied, blushing a little in embarrassment.

"My friends and I are eating over there, by the window. Want to join us?" asked Jay.

"Um…I wouldn't want to impose," Gail answered.

"Nah, it's no biggie. Besides, my buddy Griffin insisted that I invite you over," Jay told her. "So, wanna come with?"

Gail glanced over at Jay's group and saw Griffin waving and grinning and Barry giving a nod. "Well, if you're sure it's okay, I guess I could come," she replied.

"Cool," said Jay, and then he stood back and waited while she selected her items and paid for them at the casher's counter. Then he accompanied her to where the rest of group sat in waiting. "All right—Gail, you already know my brother Barry, and you've met my classmate Griffin Grey…the others are my basketball team-mate John Fox, and Barry's nutty girlfriend Daphne Dean."

"Ahem!" Daphne scowled at Jay's introduction of her.

"Guys, this is Gail Manners, one of the student workers at the school library," Jay continued, ignoring Daphne's ire.

"Pleased to meet you," John said politely. "Here, have a seat," and he shifted the empty chair next to his so Gail could sit.

"Thank you," said Gail softly, setting her tray down carefully and then sitting down herself.

"So, guys, I guess you've all heard the news, right? About the Flash getting the vote from the Central-Keystone city councils allowing him to be a superhero here?" Griffin spoke up. "What do you think, huh? Isn't that just so cool?"

"Buddy, 'cool' is not the right word to describe it," John answered with a broad grin. "It is _awesome!"_

"Like everybody on campus has been saying," Barry put in.

"Except for one person, apparently," and here Daphne shot a look at Jay. "Mr. Killjoy here doesn't seem to care one way or the other."

"Hey, whether the politicians gave the go-ahead or not wasn't going to affect the price of rice, was it?" Jay countered. "And besides, what were you going to do if they voted the opposite way?"

"C'mon, Jay, don't be such a buzz-kill," Griffin complained.

"Actually…"

As one, all of them turned to look at Gail. "Well…the thing is, Jay's kind of right," she admitted. "If the two city councils had voted to outlaw the Flash, then he'd be a criminal for acting outside the law. And we can't call ourselves law-abiding citizens if we support criminals, whether secretly or openly, can we?"

"But, Gail, the abolitionists of slavery were acting against the law in their time, too. And were they wrong for doing that?" Barry pointed out.

"Hmm. Somebody knows their history," Jay muttered.

"Everybody should know their history, Jay," said Daphne. "If we don't know where we're coming from, how can we know where we're going to?"

"Anyway, enough of all that—the fact is that the Flash can now kick butt and not be arrested for it!" John announced.

"Yeah…" Jay now picked up a sandwich from his tray and bit into it to hide the knowing smile that would have broken out on his lips otherwise.

OOOOO

"Another toast to the Flash! Drink up, everybody!" a Flash Museum employee cried, lifting his paper cup in the air.

"To the Fastest Man Alive!" another employee added her voice, likewise lifting her cup.

"Somebody pour me some more lemonade! And pass the sandwiches!" a third employee called out.

Watching the jubilation of his staff, Flash Museum curator Dexter Myles sipped from his own cup and smiled. "Don't get too hyped up, everyone; remember we still have work to do and visitors to host outside in the gallery," he reminded them. "And the others outside need to have their share of the fun, too."

"Yes, sir!" the employees replied, their excitement not diminished in the least.

Next to Dexter, Dr. Robert Meersman and Mason Trollbridge ate sandwiches and drank from paper cups as they partook of the celebration's foodstuffs. "So your staff members actually spent time last night preparing this little celebration after the newscast revealed the twin councils' vote to sanction the Flash, huh?" Mr. Trollbridge inquired.

"They sure did," Dexter affirmed. "They spent hours working on the food, they were so enthusiastic about it."

"They have every right to have been enthusiastic," Dr. Meersman chuckled. "And if they feel this way now, I wonder what the celebration will be like when the mayor announces the date for the formal affirmation of Flash's sanction…"

"That's nothing—some of the boys at my hardware are already celebrating at home, and some said they're going out to party tonight," Mr. Trollbridge chuckled. "I'm prepared to give them the day off tomorrow, if push comes to shove and they party too hard."

"Well…" Dexter raised his cup. "To the Flash's approval as the twin cities' superhero protector."

"Hear, hear," the other two men agreed, raising their cups as well.

OOOOO

A few hours later…

The Flash dashed down one of Central City's many streets. He then zipped around a corner and past several pedestrians, who promptly waved and cheered to him.

"Congrats, Flash! You're good to go!" a man walking his dog called to the passing speedster, even as the dog barked after him.

"I sure am, pal!" Flash called back.

"Well done, sonny!" an elderly man shouted to Flash further down the road as the hero sped past him and turned around the street corner to go up an avenue.

"Thanks, gramps!" Flash yelled back.

"Hey, Flash! Make us proud, now!" two female joggers cried after him as he zipped past them on the opposite side of the road.

"Hey, ladies!" Flash returned the greeting, before resuming his run while grinning all the way. "Man, everybody in town's really into this whole thing of me being legalized—and it shows!"

He slowed down as he approached a hot dog vendor. "Hey, how're you doing?" he greeted the man.

"Well, looky here—the man of the day himself!" the vendor grinned. "Say, why don't you have a hot dog? It's on me! Just to celebrate you getting such a privilege, you know."

"Really, you mean it?" Flash's eyes went wide. "Uh, sure! In that case, let me have the works!"

Nodding eagerly, the vendor readied a hot dog and slathered it with ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard and relish. "And here you are! Just look out for my hot dog stand anytime you're around here!" he assured Flash.

"I'll take you up on that, for sure! Thanks again!" Flash answered, zipping off while taking a bite into his hot dog even as the vendor waved after him. "Wow, I think I could get kinda used to this whole celebrity status…"

Presently he turned another corner to run up another lane—and was greeted with an unexpected sight: on the side of a nearby building there were the words _NICE JOB, FLASH_ spray-painted in a rather messy combination of red and yellow. "Well, now, even the kids are getting in on it, it looks like," he chuckled, slowing down and walking up to the wall to inspect the writing.

And suddenly the ground seemed to open up under his feet, and before he had time to start screaming, he was already swallowed up in the dark…

OOOOO

"Uuuuhhh…mmmmm…whoa…"

Flash's eyes blinked open. He felt sore all over, but particularly on his hands, knees, and sections of his chest and shoulders. As he opened his eyes, he realized that he seemed to be in a pitch-black area, although he couldn't figure how he'd gotten there. "What happened…?" he asked, his voice coming out as wobbly as his legs felt even as he carefully stood up from where he'd lain.

Almost as if in reply, a bright white light clanked on above his head, illuminating the immediate area. Flash then saw where he was: a gray-painted room with several windows positioned eight feet from the floor and lining two of the walls, and on one side there was a massive television screen, and off to another side there was a staircase that led to a white-painted door. Looking around, Flash noticed that on the floor there was a large red circle with a white border, and he was standing in the very centre of the circle. "Weird," he muttered.

Just then the TV screen seemed to switch on all by itself—then a voice played from the screen. _"Ah, so you're awake now, Flash. Very good."_

Frowning, Flash looked on as the screen gradually lit up to reveal a 40-something man with dark-brown hair and blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. _"Permit me to introduce myself,"_ the man continued speaking. _"I am called I.Q. And you are now in my domain."_

"How did I get here?" Flash demanded.

"_Remember that bit of graffiti you stopped to inspect? There was a trap door right in front of it, and when you stepped on it, I opened it and let you drop down into my lair,"_ explained I.Q. _"You got knocked unconscious from the fall, and you were out cold for roughly fifteen minutes…long enough for me to place you where you now stand."_

"…right. Well, sorry, pal, but I think I'll be leaving now," said Flash.

"_You leave, and you die instantly," _I.Q. said coolly.

Already poised to speed away, Flash checked his step. "Come again?"

"_That red circle you're standing on is a pressure-sensitive switch,"_ said I.Q. _"If you step off it, you'll trigger a bomb that'll not only tear apart the whole building you're in, but will also do considerable damage to at least two adjoining city blocks. Of course, I have in my possession a switch that will manually start a digital timer for the bomb and make it go off anyway, but at least with that option you'll have a few minutes or so to say your last prayers."_

Flash's eyes narrowed at this information. "So, if I step off this big red circle, the bomb blows up, and if you start that timer while I'm still on the circle and the timer runs out, the bomb blows up. Right?"

"_Basically."_ I.Q. grinned.

"All right, since I'm here, why don't you tell me what this is all about?" Flash asked. "I mean, I don't know you, and I don't recall ever meeting you before now."

"_Oh, I have no problem sharing details,"_ said I.Q. _"I'm something of a consultant for the criminal underworld, building various weapons and gadgets on request, designing and creating death-traps, the works. My services are in frequent and high demand, and I sell my skills to the best available bidder. Other times I tutor super-criminals in designing weaponry and and constructing traps tailored for the specific superheroes they expect to fight. I'm known in at least three continents as the greatest criminal genius of this generation, hence the name I.Q."_

"And I assume somebody contracted you to use this trap on me?" Flash asked.

"_Actually, no, this one's of my own volition—a test of my genius, you see,"_ I.Q. replied. _"Understand, it's nothing personal at all. I just aim to make my mark by killing a popular superhero with my traps, and thus I'll be even more sought out for hire by the world's criminal element. Of course, I'm quite aware you haven't been in operation longer than a few weeks so far, but you embody a legacy that has put the Central-Keystone area on the map for years, a legacy that endured despite the previous Flash's sacrifice during the near-apocalypse of '09. By using my intellect and inventions to kill the current bearer of that legacy, I'll have incredible prestige among the criminal element."_

Flash scoffed. "But you'll still be compensating for what you don't have."

I.Q.'s smirk dropped a little. _"Pardon?"_

"I mean, come on, dude—building a bomb that'll take out this whole building and two adjoining city blocks?" Flash went on. "You might be high on smarts, I.Q., but something tells me you fall _short _in everything else that matters. Maybe you're insecure about something personal, hmm? Not enough of a man where it counts—maybe that's why you're hiding behind that screen, because your spine's not the only limp thing you've got?"

_"Are you actually trying to insult me, Flash? Well, __need I remind you, I'm the one with the switch for the bomb's timer?"_ I.Q.'s tone turned ugly. _"Perhaps I should show it to you…"_

Suddenly there appeared on the screen, just below I.Q.'s face, a visual of a timer marked _**3:00:00. **_Almost immediately the timer began to count down. _**2:59:50…2:59:25…2:58:47.**_ _"The clock's ticking, now, speedster," _the man addressed Flash. _"Stay where you are, or try to leave—either way, you die and a good section of this area gets blown sky-high."_

"Says you! As soon as I find the bomb, I'm gonna dismantle it!" Flash shouted.

_"__Assuming you CAN find the bomb in time," _I.Q. sneered, before his face vanished from the screen, leaving the timer behind and still counting downwards. _**2:44:27.**_

Realizing he didn't have much time to lose, Flash looked around at his surroundings again…then glanced down at the red circle he was standing on. He walked a little to his left, then to his right, while still staying within the bounds of the circle. _Okay, no boom…so I have to stay within the circle, since it's a pressure-sensitive switch like that guy said…but where's the bomb itself?_

_**2:38:09.**_

Going close to the edge of the circle, Flash stooped down and placed his hand on the white border. It felt slightly raised up from the floor, and rubbery at that. Cocking an eyebrow, he grabbed hold of the edge with her fingertips and tried to pull on it. To his surprise and pleasure, the border was pulled up from the floor, where it had apparently been fastened with glue; emboldened, he grabbed other sections of the border and, bit by bit, pulled the whole thing up from the floor, though he found that he had to walk around the circle's entire circumference to accomplish this.

_**1:51:39.**_

Now Flash stooped down again and felt the floor directly where he was being forced to remain. The red circle, he noted, appeared to be of a ceramic design. Tracing along the edge of the tile where the white plastic covering had been moments earlier, he saw that there was a slight dip in the floor, directly running around the circle, and he pushed his fingertips into the groove to see if they would fit.

They did.

_**1:43:22.**_

Gripping the edge of the red tile, Flash pulled as hard as he could. The tile didn't budge. Scowling, Flash pulled again. The tile still wouldn't budge. "Grr…" Flash dug his fingers as deep down into the floor crevice as he could, gripped the tile's edge hard, and pulled again, straining his shoulders as he did so—but still the tile wouldn't give. "Oh, wonderful," he grumbled, sinking down on his behind.

_Wait—maybe I should try to find the hollowest point in the tile?_

With that thought on his mind, he rapped his knuckles on the section of the tile he'd been trying to pull up, and sure enough, the sound was a very solid one. Moving as fast as he could, he went around the edge of the circle, taking care to stay within its bounds, and rapped his knuckles on the tile as he went along. To his disappointment, the entire edge of the tile sounded solid in response to his rapping. Flash frowned as he considered this…then moved toward the middle of the tile, knuckle-rapping as he did. Everywhere he rapped, though, the tile felt and sounded firmly set in place.

_Hold it, hold it—hollow sound!_

Indeed, somewhere close to the centre of the circle there was one point in the tile that seemed to echo the sound of Flash's knuckles hitting against it. _Jackpot! But—now how do I get underneath this?_

_**1:06:56.**_

Flash rapped on the hollow section of the tile again, just to assure himself that it was indeed hollow. Sure enough, it was. "But I'll need a hammer to break through here, and a hammer I don't have," Flash muttered. "…or do I…?"

He glanced at his hands. Immediately he thought back to his fight with Brick. "That guy had a tough jaw…but it still got the effect of multiple super-speed punches. So…"

Tightening his fist, he punched forward in the air once, then did it again, and then again. He continued punching, increasing his speed as he did so, until his entire arm was blurring back-and-forth like a piston. "Yup, a natural jackhammer I've got here!" he chuckled. "All right…"

With that, he directed his arm down and punched repeatedly at the hollow point, and in a few seconds it cracked and then broke open, revealing a cylindrical opening underneath that was just wide enough for a man's arm to reach into it. Clearing away the ceramic debris, Flash examined the hole, and only then noticed that there were numerous small wires extending down into it from beneath the tile. "So that's how you did it, I.Q.…the bomb's hidden down here, the wires for the bomb are connected to the tile, and like you said, my being on the tile is just holding off the explosion," he commented aloud. "Well, let's see if I can't get this bomb out of there…"

Reaching down into the hole, he felt around with his fingertips, and soon enough he was rewarded with the touch of something plastic. Pushing his arm further down until he could grip the object, he carefully pulled it out, together with the wires connected to it—and found himself holding an oval-shaped, grey-colored item. "The bomb," he whispered.

_**0:25:41.**_

Examining the bomb, Flash found the point where all the wires connected to the inside of the plastic casing. Right at that point was a much smaller digital timer, though he could still make out what it said:_**0:20:13.**_ _Great…twenty seconds, and no way to disarm the bomb…not that I have any bomb-disarming skills to speak of, anyway…_

He looked at the bomb again, then at the wiring. All the wires, as he'd seen previously, ran from the bomb to just underneath the red ceramic tile on which he now was. _No time to pick the right wire—gotta just yank them all out of the bomb! The worst that could happen is that I get blown up anyway…_

Grabbing all the wires in one hand, in one super-fast movement Flash ripped all the wires out of their connections to the bomb. "Now this tile-switch is useless!" he exulted, tossing the wires aside. "And I'm still in one piece! And…"

He glanced at the bomb's timer.

_**0:07:01.**_

_Eep._

In a heartbeat he grabbed the bomb and held it underneath one arm, ran for the staircase and turned the handle on the door—it was locked.

_**0:06:52.**_

Frantic, Flash hammered at the door handle with his free fist, knocking it off in a moment, and kicked the door open, speeding out with the bomb under his arm.

_**0:05:39.**_

He raced along the corridor, then up a staircase, spotted a glass window, gritted his teeth, braced himself for impact, and sped toward the window before throwing himself bodily at it, smashing the glass and finding himself landing heavily out in an alley not far from where he'd gone to read the childish-looking graffiti on the wall.

_**0:02:55.**_

_Go! GO! __**GO!**_

Letting out a loud scream that only barely registered in his ears, Flash zoomed along the street as fast as he could go, urging himself to go faster, faster, _faster, _and now he raced past buildings, through traffic intersections, next to pedestrians that got startled by the unexpected swift breeze that blew so close to them.

_**0:02:04.**_

He was near the outskirts of Central City.

_**0:01:45.**_

He was past the city limits.

_**0:01:09.**_

He was out in the mountainous area just beyond the city, running up a small mountain.

_**0:00:33.**_

He reached the very peak of the mountain and braked his feet to a dead stop right there, but his upper body still rocketed forward as, with all his strength and with another scream, he hurled the bomb away from his person.

_**0:00:21**_..._**0:00:08**_…_**0:00:00.**_

_**BRA-KOOM!**_

The airborne bomb erupted in an explosion that was so full of force that Flash got knocked two feet backwards and landed hard on the ground. The noise of the blast rang in his ears, and then gradually subsided as the wind blew around him. Shaking his head, he slowly sat up and looked at the smoke blowing away in the air where the bomb had blown up. Then, cautiously standing up, he turned and looked back toward Central City.

The city was safe.

Flash heaved a sigh of utter relief, allowing himself to drop down on the ground in a sitting position as the reality of the last few seconds slowly came home to him. He looked down at his gloved hand, then down at the lightning insignia on his chest, and quietly placed his hand over the symbol.

_I just saved hundreds of people. I just saved a city. And I did it so fast none of them were even aware anything happened._

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. _I…right now, I…_

_I really AM the Flash. I'm the fastest man alive._

A grin slowly came on his face. _Wow._

OOOOO

Deep in a hidden lair, Ira Quimby watched on his large wall-mounted monitor as the Flash disposed of the bomb in the mountain area outside Central City.

"Well done, Flash," he said softly. "You've exceeded my expectations by far. I see now that I'll have to come up with something more…specific for you next time around. I'll let you rest for now, but make no mistake, speedster—we'll meet again." And a deep, throaty chuckle erupted from him.

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 14**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—the West family prepares to visit their relatives for the annual Thanksgiving family dinner! But while Jay and Laura go shopping for their share of the victuals to be included in the dinner, Jay is forced to contend with an attack by the ice-themed villain known as Chillblaine! Next chapter—_Cold Turkey!_


	15. Cold Turkey

_**THE FLASH 2055**_

Written by Neon Majestic

_(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)_

**CHAPTER 15: Cold Turkey**

"Okay, uh-huh…all right, so that's the entire list of what you want us to bring this year?" Laura West spoke on the phone, jotting down some notes on a piece of paper while she talked. "Yes…all right, no problem…give them our love…yes, I'll make sure Jay's on his best behavior this year…oh, Barry will be glad to see you again, that I can guarantee…all right, then, Eliza, give my love to everyone too. Okay, bye-bye."

Hanging up the phone, Laura looked at what she'd jotted down during her conversation, and released a contented sigh. _Today makes exactly three weeks and a day before Thanksgiving Day…my most favorite time of the year_.

For as long as she could remember, she'd always enjoyed Thanksgiving. To most people, that time of year hailed huge stuffed turkeys, puddings, and various other side-dishes eaten at large tables with friends and family, and for others the emphasis was less on the availability of food and more on the time spent with loved ones, cooking in the kitchen and watching seasonal sports on TV. For Laura, though, while those certainly played a role in her enjoyment of the season, what made it personally enjoyable was the chance she got to count her blessings and be more grateful for them every day afterward until the next November 25. She'd always done her best to institute this aspect of the day into her children, letting them know that the very first recorded Thanksgiving dates of America's pioneer settlers were about just that, _giving thanks_ for what you were privileged to have, even as she'd patiently put up with Barry's childhood insistence that he'd never touch pumpkin pie to save his life and equally young Jay's vehement declaration that he preferred his turkey baked as opposed to roasted.

It was a yearly tradition for both sides of the West family that the various relatives would bring their selected contributions to one central location, often alternating year after year between Maxwell's mother's home and Laura's parents' house. This year, the gathering would be at the paternal grandmother's dwelling; Grandma Linda would be sure to welcome the many young people making up the blended family's latest generation, and Barry and Jay definitely loved her even if the latter wouldn't openly show it as much as his brother.

"Speaking of Jay…" Laura murmured aloud as she heard the familiar sound of her older son's car pulling up outside the house. Setting down her writing instruments, she hurried to the front door and opened it just as Jay was raising his hand to knock. "Hi, son," she greeted him with a big hug.

"Hey, Mom," Jay answered, returning the embrace. "I'm right here, just like I promised. Barry's got some assignments to finish up at school, so…"

"So he'll miss out on the Thanksgiving shopping this year," Laura finished. "Never mind—I still have one strong and handsome young man to help me with the shopping."

"Yeah, yeah, Mom," said Jay, but he made no effort to hide the pleased look on his face at his mother's compliment. "So, what are we supposed to get for the dinner this year?"

"Hold on, I left the list inside…" Laura stepped back inside the living room, picked up the list she'd made out, and closely scrutinized it. "All right…this year we're being asked to bring a turkey, plus some potatoes, green peas, bread crumbs for the stuffing, and three bottles of cranberry sauce."

"It's going to be an extravaganza feast this year, isn't it?" Jay grinned. "But then again, since it'll be at Grandma Linda's house this year, it's bound to be an extravaganza!"

"Now, now, Jay, remember you're not the only one who'll be eating the turkey this year," Laura said good-naturedly. "So, then, are you ready to go?"

"Am I!" Jay grinned even more widely, opening the front door for his mother to step outside to the car.

OOOOO

The snow wasn't forecast to fall in the Central-Keystone area for at least another two weeks, but that didn't stop cold breezes from coming into the area every so often, a reminder to all that soon the ground would be crusty-white as the impending snowflakes would settle here, there and everywhere. As it was, the leaves on the trees were steadily falling off, having changed color with the season, and those who had front yards to rake the leaves from gathered them in piles, in preparation for Thanksgiving Day when the children and the young at heart would jump into those piles, screaming with delight, before eventually going inside for the traditional hot Thanksgiving dinner. At this time, many singles, couples and families were out in their numbers, going to the various food stores and supermarkets to collect their needed ingredients, so as to do good dinners for their friends, families and loved ones.

But Denton Wynters was not one of those people sharing the spirit of the season.

And, really, why should he? He didn't have much of anything to be thankful for. In fact, if you were to ask him what he had to give thanks for, the only response he'd give you was a cool, blank stare. That he'd been born in a trailer park to two misfits who gave him away at the first opportunity because they couldn't be bothered to care for him as opposed to being deliberately spaced out hour after hour; that he'd been entered into the foster system at age seven, bounced about from home to home, some of which he acutely felt like the odd man out and some of which he was blatantly told he'd never fit in; that on entering adulthood he'd gone from one dead-end job to another because he'd only barely scraped through high school and had never had the drive or finances to increase his knowledge through the college system; that he'd been shunted in numerous aspects of life because he'd been born to the wrong parents, grown in the wrong system, existed on the wrong side of the tracks as a menial wage-earner, and had a few convictions for petty larceny and burglary to his name when all he wanted was to increase his pocket change a little—what among any of this should he give thanks for?

Not that he truly begrudged anyone who had life better than him, of course. They couldn't help being born in the stations of life where they were, with the right kind of genes and consequently the right kind of mindset to be successes in the middle- and upper-class homes he often saw in his walks around town. He felt in his heart that, were their positions reversed, he'd be living it up the way they were doing while they'd be the ones to slave away at thankless jobs like he'd spent the better part of the last eight years of his life doing. And probably they'd be burgling his houses or business-places, and then he'd be paying the security companies to bust their sorry behinds and throwing rich-looking congratulatory parties for the police…

_No use thinking about fantasies, Wynters,_ he thought to himself as he wrapped himself in his blue hooded jacket and walked along, his face impassive to those who looked on him. _Better to face reality as it is and do what you've been doing._

He did his best not to make eye-contact with anyone else whenever he went out walking, and for the most part they seemed to understand that he wasn't the type who'd be welcoming of conversation. He didn't have any close friends to speak of, and in fact he didn't see the need to have any, and he was cool with that. He'd grown up emotionally isolated, so why should that change? He was used to it, having a distant attitude, not having to make any major effort to express emotions he didn't really feel for the benefit of people around him. Anyone who did try to engage him in anything they might consider amicable chit-chat, like religious solicitors or chatty joggers, quickly got the message once they looked into his steel-blue eyes and wound up moving away from him.

But just because he wasn't minded to be personable with other people didn't mean he wasn't smart. Whoever said you had to go to school to be smart, he thought, was either an idiot or a liar. He might not have had the drive to be as bookish as his teachers at school would have liked, but he knew how to read, how to understand certain concepts that were of actual interest to him, and how to make those concepts work for him. For instance, while he wasn't a science whiz like most of his fellow high school students who took up that particular course of study, he did a little reading in his spare time and knew how to apply certain scientific principles, or at least he knew the theory behind them.

And much of the motivation behind him doing his own study in that respect lay in his main interest—the mechanics of the gadgets that non-superhuman super-criminals utilized in their crimes. Oh, he wasn't going to pretend that he thought they were nice role models—he knew for a fact that many of them were vicious killers and thugs, but at least they were much more interesting than many of the blander personalities of the costumed heroes of yesteryear and now. Many of them, he knew from his reading, had started out as petty crooks, had gotten convictions and jail time for relatively slap-on-the-wrist offenses such as he wound up committing now and then, before they broke out into the big leagues with outlandish gadgets or freakish meta-human powers. A given crook might be an ordinary Joe one day, and the next day he'd probably be as famous as a global conqueror.

For his part, Denton was especially fascinated by the life story of the man known in criminal archives as Captain Cold, a man who fit such a "from nobody to nightmare" description. After all, he was sure, nobody in the 1990s and 2000s could ever have expected a man who'd been christened Leonard Snart, who had a dull and uninspiring job as a grocery-bagger, to rise to prominence as "the man who mastered absolute zero," doing so by using pistols that fired ice-beams which could freeze anything they hit. Nobody in those times could have expected a middle-aged married man like Snart to be able to go fearlessly head-to-head against the Flash of that era, much less to take on the legendary Dark Knight or even one of the so-called New Gods without cringing in terror at the prospect. In this long-gone foe of the old Scarlet Speedster, Denton saw a kindred spirit, a role model, one of the few people he could almost call a friend despite the fact that they would never be able to meet in person.

As he entered the apartment building on his block and then climbed the stairs to his flat, turned the key in his door's lock, and stepped inside, Denton thought back to the past year, when he'd begun running a few experiments of his own in his down-time, here in the privacy of his room where he wouldn't be a bother to anybody else and nobody else who wasn't his landlord would be a bother to him. Driven by his fascination with Captain Cold, properly motivated by the similarity in their existences, he'd decided to put some of the science he'd picked up in school to some amount of use by trying to replicate his idol's cold-gun weaponry. He'd studied every book he could borrow from the local library on the subject of cold, freezing temperatures, ice, and everything related and in between. He'd also researched whatever information he could get on Captain Cold's weaponry and the theories on how they worked; the famous criminal had never been keen on revealing the exact nature of his cold-themed weaponry's mechanics, so those secrets were lost to time. But Denton pressed on every time he had a spare moment, determined to unearth those secrets for himself.

He'd finished making a prototype pistol, of a sleeker design than Captain Cold's guns, about a month before the debut appearance of the current Flash now patrolling the Central-Keystone area. The tests he'd run with the pistol didn't produce quite the exact same results as Captain Cold's weaponry, as while those predecessor guns could shoot actual beams of ice or short icicle bursts as their wielder desired, Denton's version could only fire bright blue laser-like beams that lasted for as long as he held the trigger. Nonetheless, the end result was the same—an ice-like coating with appropriate lack of heat was created, and whatever was fired on could be encased in that simulated ice. But Denton hadn't tried using it on living, moving targets yet; he didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, especially considering he had a criminal record already.

But then again, so had Snart. And _he_ hadn't stayed under the radar for very long before his super-criminal debut, when he battled his generation's Flash.

Denton's thoughts turned to the current-day Flash. Now, _that_ would be an interesting field test for his pistol, and a way for him to step up from his dead-end life. Sure, he'd very likely get pegged as a dangerous criminal going forward after this, but anybody who'd break into people's houses and steal their credit cards and jewelry wasn't a saint or a role model for goody-goodies, that he knew. And if he was going to be a criminal, he might as well make the absolute best of it instead of being just a faceless mook.

He opened his closet door and shifted his clothes to one side, before revealing a dark blue suit he'd designed himself. The suit had white fur lining around the neck and along the shoulders, a white stripe down the torso, a white fur-lined belt around the waist, and white gloves and boots. The fur was synthetic, of course—he could never have afforded the real deal, but he didn't care either way—and the blue section of the suit was adapted from a biker outfit he'd bought brand-new, online. Taking the suit down from its place in the closet, he bent down to the floor and took out a box, and then brought both suit and box over to his bed and set them down. Opening the box, he pulled out a white helmet with a blue single-lined visor, and set the headpiece onto his own head; the visor covered his eyes and the upper half of his nose, but the top section of the helmet covered only the very top of his head from front to back, while leaving the sides of his scalp exposed, and his mouth remained exposed. Little by little, he put on the rest of the costume and then went to model it in front of his bedroom mirror.

_I look like a real cool cat._

He picked up his ice-ray pistol and posed with it, aiming at his own reflection and pretending to shoot. He wondered if Captain Cold had felt the way he now felt, back when _he_ was first starting out.

He also wondered if Captain Cold had spent very long choosing his super-villain name.

_I'm not going to call myself Captain Cold. That's too presumptuous…like that guy who took on the Trickster's name when he attacked the Flash Museum a while back. No…I'm going to go with something different…something original._

He thought for a bit, even as he continued making threatening poses in front of the mirror. _Mr. Freeze? Nah, that's already been used…Snowman? Sheesh, too lame. Icicle? Hmm…not really clicking with me. Uh, Blizzard? Eh…no. Sub-Zero? Hmm…well, that sounds nice, but it sounds more like a ninja's name, and I don't want to put myself across that way. Hmm…Chill? No way, that sounds like a drink mix._

Then Denton frowned. _Unless…_

Turning away from the mirror, he went across to his computer, booted it up, and a moment later he was searching for online dictionaries. Soon he found the best one the internet could offer, and he was searching under the list of C words. And then he found what he was looking for. "Chilblains: a tissue injury occurring when a predisposed person is exposed to cold and humidity," he read.

Chilblains. Chill. Hmm, now there was a pun-based name combination.

"Chillblaine it is."

OOOOO

The Central Station Mall in the city's shopping center was abuzz with activity, as buyers went from one store to another with shopping bags in tow, and Jay and Laura blended in with the rest of the populace easily. He huffed and puffed behind his mother, hefting two large bags of food items as best as he could manage, while she walked along with a cheerful expression with her handbag slung over her shoulder. "How are you managing there, son?" she asked over her shoulder.

"All things considered, pretty well, actually," Jay grunted. "What's left on the list?"

Laura pulled the shopping list out of her pocket and perused it. "Well, there's still the turkey left to fetch," she reported. "How about we go over to that store?" she added, pointing out a store that had several large turkeys on display in the window. "It seems they're selling frozen turkeys at a pretty sizeable discount…and we can maybe pick up one or two rotisserie chickens while we're at it, for a bit of variety for the family dinner."

"One big bird ought to be enough, Mom," Jay told her.

"But not everybody wants to have turkey only, son," Laura countered. "Your Aunt Eliza is planning to bring a baked ham as her contribution, and Uncle Donald is bringing two roast beef rib joints. And variety is the spice of life, you know."

"Not to mention all the side dishes that'll be available for sure," Jay sighed. "Okay, I think I better get a handle on myself before I get hungry."

"And knowing you, you'll eat these bags whole before we get back to the car," Laura smirked a little.

Jay's shoulders sagged a little from the weight of the bags. "Uh, listen, Mom, couldn't I just put these things in the car and then come right back and help you choose a turkey? I know I used to lift weights in high school, but these Thanksgiving groceries are HEAVY."

"Hmm…well, I suppose it wouldn't do to have your back give out," Laura conceded after a moment. "All right, just set the things down in the trunk of the car and then come right back here. Meantime, I'll choose the rotisserie chickens. I do still have the power of the credit card between us, after all."

"Sure, Mom, sure," nodded Jay. "I'll be back!" and with that, hefting the bags again, he stalked off toward the mall's parking lot. Smiling as she watched her son go, Laura turned and walked toward the designated turkey store.

OOOOO

Denton Wynters arrived at the mall, clad in his blue hooded jacket that was zipped up, ostensibly to protect himself from the cold breeze, but really to hide the vest of his costume underneath. The hood was pulled as far down as it could come, and he kept his head low, to hide the visor-helmet he now wore over the top half of his face. He didn't care if such an appearance made him look thuggish, as he was sure some of the shoppers must feel from looking at him; he just intended to do what he was going to do and then leave the area.

Of course, who said he couldn't try to earn a few funds while he was at it? If he was going to have his field test, he might as well get some tangible reward out of it that he could actually spend.

Behind the visor, his eyes shifted from left to right, taking in all the stores, missing nothing in his field of vision. After a moment, his faze settled on one particular store, and with a deep breath he stepped toward its open front entrance.

OOOOO

Laura hummed a cheerful tune as she examined the rack of packaged rotisserie chickens. She picked up one package and eyed it keenly, then put it back, picked up another package and likewise examined it. "Oh, come on, which one should I get?" she muttered, some of her cheer fading.

"Um, excuse me, miss…?"

Laura turned at the sound of the voice and saw a younger woman looking curiously at her. "Do you need help choosing one of those?" the girl asked gently.

"You know, I'd really appreciate that," Laura answered. "It's so hard to pick just one flavor when all of them are so appealing. Thanksgiving shopping can be such a brain-teaser sometimes."

The girl examined the display of chickens. "Garlic-lemon, tandoori, Mexican, barbecue, and Huli-Huli," she read the labels. "Hmm, I'd recommend the garlic-lemon or the tandoori. Both of those have a tangy flavor that'll go well with whatever else you're serving for your dinner."

"…and then that'll give me a bit of room to experiment with the flavor for the turkey when the time comes to cook that big bird," Laura reasoned.

"Something like that," and the young woman smiled a little.

"Well, in that case…tandoori it is. My boys at home will be happy to try something new, I'm sure," said Laura. "Thanks for the assist…uh, sorry, my bad, I didn't get your name."

The girl suddenly looked apologetic. "Oh, my bad. I'm Gail, Gail Manners."

"Glad to meet you, Ms. Manners. The name's Laura West," the older woman answered, and she extended her hand.

Already reaching out to shake Laura's hand, Gail blinked. "West? Um, excuse me, but by any chance do you know Barry and Jay West?"

"Those would be my boys at home." Laura chuckled. "I take it you're a schoolmate of theirs?"

"Yes, at Central City University," said Gail. "Barry and I have had classes together, and Jay and I met at the library where I'm a student worker."

"I see," said Laura. "Well, it's certainly nice to meet you. I take it you're also shopping for Thanksgiving?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Gail. "I have to make the best of the season, like everyone else is doing."

Laura looked puzzled. "Make the best of the season, eh?"

"Yes," Gail nodded. "At least I'm thankful for a few things in my life, so…"

But now a slight frown found its way onto Laura's mouth as she considered the younger woman's expression. "Are you spending the holiday with anyone?"

"What? Well, I still live with my parents," said Gail. "Being rent-free has its advantages."

"Hmm," Laura mused.

Neither of them, nor the other shoppers around them, seemed to notice a young man lurking around in the store's dairy section close by, pulling something out of his blue jacket with a slight sneer on his lips…

OOOOO

Out in the parking lot, Jay loaded the bags into the trunk of the car and slammed the trunk's lid shut. "Okay, two big loads out of the way, and now I have to go back and help Mom with picking out the big bird," he chuckled. "Boy, Barry's really gonna be sorry he missed out on this shopping trip…"

Suddenly a loud _CRASH_ coming from inside the mall caught his ear. Turning, he was just in time to see what appeared to be a gigantic block of ice shooting up through a section of the mall's roof, even as panicked screams now burst out from inside the building. "And now I'm feeling sorry this couldn't have just stayed a _normal_ shopping trip," he groaned, before glancing around his immediate area and then unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the yellow lightning bolt on the white circle with the red background.

OOOOO

The store's entrance was completely blocked off by a huge ice wall that extended right through the roof, and that was being added to by the bright blue beam shot out of the mystery man's pistol. Nearby, several shoppers' feet were stuck fast to the ground by means of huge blocks of ice, thus preventing them from escaping; those who weren't held so fast were cowering nearby, terrified of what this person in the blue hooded jacket could do next.

Among those not personally trapped by ice were Laura and Gail, who were huddled together behind the rotisserie chicken rack and watching the stranger's antics. "Who is that man?" Gail whispered.

"Beats me," Laura whispered back.

Presently the man stopped firing his bizarre beam, leaving the ice wall at the entrance, and turned to the shoppers. "Now, then, ladies and gents, while we're here, let's have you fork over all your valuables," he directed them. "Credit cards, jewelry, whatever you've got of monetary value…give it over to me now."

"Who are you, man?" one shopper demanded.

The man smirked at the question, his eyes seeming to light up behind his visor. "I call myself Chillblaine," he introduced himself. "And I'm the neo-master of absolute zero, inspired by the famous Captain Cold."

There was some murmuring among the captives when they heard that.

"What? Don't tell me you've never heard of Captain Cold!" Chillblaine exclaimed, annoyance in his tone. "You live here in Central City and you've never heard of him? Middle-aged guy, blue and white parka, fought the old Flash, used an ice gun, teamed up with people like Mirror Master and Captain Boomerang?"

"Oh…oh, yeah, sure, we've heard of him," one bystander spoke up. "But he was just an old ulcer-filled wash-up."

The next thing everyone knew, a bright blue beam shot out at the speaker, freezing him into an icicle statue. "Does anyone _else_ think Captain Cold was 'just an old ulcer-filled wash-up'?" Chillblaine asked, venom in his tone, even as steam rose from the nozzle of his gun.

Laura stared, horrified, at the frozen man, then at Chillblaine. "You…you froze him…" she managed to breathe out.

"Duh!" Chillblaine answered. "Of course, he's not going to die from being frozen right away, although he _will _need blankets pretty soon…the ice look is just cosmetic. Suffocation, on the other hand…now _that's_ going to be unpleasant." He waved his ice-beam pistol. "Now, as I was saying…dig deep into your pockets and hand over all your valuables. Unless, of course, you all want to become living popsicles like your unfortunate fellow shopper over here…"

OOOOO

By this time a large crowd was gathering outside the affected store, with security personnel frantically digging away at the ice wall with whatever sharp instruments they had on hand. Then suddenly a rush of wind filled the immediate area—and there was the Scarlet Speedster. "Oh! Flash!" several shoppers hailed him.

Flash took in the situation at a glance. _This store…didn't Mom go in here to buy the chicken and turkey?_ Scowling, he walked up to the security guards. "Hey, guys. Where'd this sheet of ice come from?"

"No clue," one guard admitted. "It just seemed to spring up from out of nowhere, from right inside this store."

"And the people inside?" Flash asked.

"Probably still trapped in there," the guard answered.

Flash's eyes narrowed. "Not for long, they're not. Let me have a look at this ice."

"Suit yourself, Flash, but we've been digging at this ice for the last couple minutes and we're not breaking through fast enough," another guard commented, even as the group stepped aside to allow the speedster access.

"Hmm." Flash studied the ice for a moment, and then put a hand on it. _This ice has got to be artificially made, or why else would it just spring up out of nowhere? But still…it definitely feels cold, like ice should be…hmm…then what if…_

Placing his other hand on the ice, so that now both palms were pressed against the cold wall, Flash began to move his hands as fast as he could. "Just trying something here, folks," he announced to the onlookers.

_Maybe if I vibrate my hands against the ice fast enough…create enough friction heat…like when you rub your hands together really hard to warm them…_

OOOOO

"Thank you, thank you, and thank you," Chillblaine said smoothly, as credit cards, rings, necklaces, and other valuables were dropped into a container he'd shaped out of ice with his ice-beam gun.

"You won't get away with this, young man…the Flash will find you for sure!" an older woman seethed while she, rather reluctantly, dropped her diamond ring into his container.

"Well, now, that would be pretty cool, wouldn't it?" Chillblaine asked, allowing himself a chuckle. "But until then, I'll just keep doing what I'm doing here. Now…have I forgotten anybody here?"

He glanced around at the huddling shoppers…then his eyes rested on Laura and Gail. "Ah, yes, I haven't collected anything from you two, have I?" he asked, walking up to them. "Got anything to share, ladies?" he added, shaking his ice container.

"Please…we don't have any jewelry or anything like that," Gail said timidly.

"Oh, that's quite fine," Chillblaine replied. "Just your regular old creds will do."

Laura shook her head. "You could be doing so much with this technology you've got here…why turn to crime? Don't you have any higher ambition than that?" she asked.

"Ambition? Lady, you're one to talk," Chillblaine grunted. "Look at the whole lot of you in here—all of you, doing this fancy shopping for Thanksgiving, spending your creds to fill up your big fancy tables for one day out of the year, in the name of 'giving thanks for blessings.' Meanwhile, there are people who're out on the street begging for even one little hand-out every day, just so they can get something to put in their bellies…people who don't grow up as privileged as you, who get shunted by societal norms, who have to steal just to be able to eat or because they're only barely making the rent. What do any of them have to be thankful for? Why should any of them have any 'ambition' to do better than what's been given to them, when they're in such depressing conditions already?"

"Maybe this will come as a surprise to you, but not everybody has such a pessimistic view of life as you do," Laura told him. "Many people throughout history have come from rock-bottom beginnings and made something useful of their lives, and a number of them even became famous because they didn't settle for the poor hand life dealt them. They could have stayed right there in the dirt, but they chose to be better than that because they believed they were better than that. Yes, there are plenty of well-off people who could do more for their fellow men than they do now, but at the same time, if you sit around waiting for hand-outs all your life, that's all you will ever be—unmotivated to do better or to be better." Her tone became harsher. "You didn't have to become a criminal—but you chose to be one. Ultimately, the responsibility for that choice will have to rest on you."

Chillblaine's jaw tensed. "I was a crook long before I decided to go the costumed route, lady. Your little speech sounds nice, but you try living in my shoes before you go preaching idealism to me. Now…" He held up his ice container to her while waving his ice-beam gun menacingly. "Hand over your valuables now, unless you want to become an ice queen."

CRASH!

The sound of ice splintering caught everyone's attention, even as at that moment a red blur rushed into the store, grabbed Chillblaine by the front of his jacket, hoisted him into the air, and bodily slammed him into the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Before he could get back his bearings, a crimson fist shot down and slammed into his face, knocking him senseless.

"The Flash!" Gail's eyes widened.

"Everybody out of here, now!" Flash directed the patrons to the gaping hole he'd created in the ice wall. "I'll deal with this punk!"

"Some of us can't move—we're trapped!" one captive shopper cried, indicating the ice blocks restraining him and others of the group, as well as the one shopper completely encased in ice.

Nodding, Flash rushed to those whose legs were trapped in ice blocks, and rubbed his hands against the ice at super-speed. One block took at least a minute or two to deal with, but in short order he'd freed those shoppers and was now preparing to deal with the one shopper who was frozen from head to foot. "All right, everybody who can move, get moving!" he ordered.

The shoppers wasted no time hurrying out of the store. Gail and Laura and a few others, meanwhile, lend aid to some of those whose legs had been trapped in ice. "Easy now, just lean on me," Laura said consolingly, slinging one woman's arm over her own shoulder as she assisted the limping shopper.

"You'll be okay now, everything's fine," Gail assured another affected shopper as she assisted him out the entrance.

In the meantime, as the shoppers made their way out, Flash was vibrating his hands against the completely-frozen shopper's head and neck. "Easy does it, Mac, easy does it," he whispered. "Can't remove the ice from you too fast, gotta be careful…who knows how long you've been here like this…"

By and by the ice broke away from the man's head, and he gasped out loud. "Whew! I thought I was gonna get stifled in there!" he cried.

"Just stay cool," Flash started. "Uh, wrong choice of words—just stay _calm,_ I mean. I'll have you out of here in a jiffy."

"Uh-huh, right—behind you!" the man shouted, his face contorting in sudden panic.

Flash spun around, in time to see Chillblaine pointing the ice-beam pistol at him even as the villain stood to his feet, rubbing his free hand against his brow. "Ah, the Flash is here…I was wondering what hit me just now," Chillblaine commented. "Now the fun can really start."

"Could you do me a favor and lie back down on the ground where I threw you, and, y'know, stay there?" Flash asked.

For answer, Chillblaine turned the gun toward the floor and pulled the trigger in several short bursts—and a moment later, thin sheets of ice were created in various places across the ground. "Wish I could, buddy-boy, but the ground's too cold for comfort," the ice-wielding villain answered with a smirk.

"Oh, brother. Hey, mister, think you can hang on a little while longer? Let me just deal with this popsicle whack-job," Flash told the captive shopper.

"Hey, take your time…not that I'm gonna catch a cold or anything from this," the shopper grunted. "Still, it'll be worth it once I get to see you kick this punk's frosty a—" but suddenly a blast of ice-beam energy formed a gag around his mouth before he could finish his statement, and then he let out muffled screams and curses on realizing what had happened.

"Some people are just too chatty for their own good," Chillblaine muttered.

Flash regarded the blue-clothed villain. "Oh, a mock-up of Captain Cold? I've seen his exhibit at the Flash Museum," he said. "So what are you—Captain Cold 2.0?"

"I'm not so arrogant as to name myself directly after him…I'm just inspired by him, is all," said Chillblaine. "You can just call me Chillblaine. That's what I told the people in here before I started robbing them," and he indicated the ice container he'd been holding earlier, which now lay on the floor. "They were pretty generous with their creds and jewels after they saw what I could do."

"Well, I've got something to give you too—a one-way ticket to a nice cozy cell," said Flash, and then he zipped toward Chillblaine—but suddenly, as he ran, one foot flew backwards, the other slid forward and up, and before he had time to register what was happening, he landed hard on his side, sliding right past Chillblaine and toward a snack display and knocking the whole thing over on top of himself. "Ow…what…?"

Without missing a beat, Chillblaine reached down, picked up his ice container, and casually strolled away toward the store's entrance, hopping over some of the ice patches he'd created as he did so. "You might be able to run fast, but if you slip even once, you'll go crashing…just like when a car tire hits a slippery patch on the road in winter," he commented.

Gingerly picking himself up from the floor, Flash steadied himself as best he could—but as he took a step forward, he slipped on another icy patch and landed hard on his rump. "OW!"

"It's all in how you step, Flash," Chillblaine advised him. "Not that I'll give you a chance to figure it out…" He pointed his pistol in the speedster's direction. "…because I'm putting you on ice!" and he pulled the trigger.

Seeing the blue beam coming at him, Flash rolled out of the way even as it struck the floor and created another ice patch. Jumping to his feet, he bounded forward and then felt himself slide along the floor again. This time, though, he held his arms out to the side to steady his body, then pressed his feet toward the now-slippery floor, skating toward Chillblaine. The villain, for his part, dived out of Flash's way, rolled to his feet, and fired his ice-beam at his opponent again; spinning around, Flash saw the beam coming once more and jumped backwards and out of its way, but as his feet touched the floor again, he slipped on the icy floor once more and ended up crashing to the ground on his side. Not wasting a moment, Chillblaine took aim and fired again, and this time the beam hit Flash squarely in the chest, covering his entire midsection in ice that fastened him to the floor.

While the still-trapped civilian stared in wide-eyed horror at what had just happened, Chillblaine stood up and carefully walked around the icy patches to where Flash lay on the floor, struggling to get free of his cold restraint. "Now, before you can somehow break free…" He pointed the pistol at Flash and fired the beam once more, covering the speedster from head to toe in a huge block of ice. "And with that, my field test of my ice-beam gun is a success. Now, then, time to head on out of here…"

He walked toward the entrance again—and immediately beheld the many security officers outside, with weapons drawn. "Freeze, scumbag!" one guard yelled, gun pointed right at the intruder.

Chillblaine promptly retreated back inside the store's entrance and hid behind the door's frame and the section of the ice column that still remained near it. "Hey, _**I**_ get to use the cold-themed puns around here!" he shouted back. "And speaking of 'freezing'…" He stuck his pistol outside and fired a random beam-blast that happened to hit one guard, freezing him right where he was even as the others promptly ran for cover. "That good enough for you?"

"We can always wait you out if we have to," another guard threatened from his perch behind a wall column.

Discreetly peeking out from behind his own safe-spot, Chillblaine beheld the guard he'd frozen with his un-aimed shot. "Yeah, wait me out—because I still have a civilian in here and I know you won't shoot at me as long as I have him in here. Of course, you can only afford to wait if you want your friend out there to suffocate inside that ice cocoon I've trapped him in," he called back.

On impulse, the other guards looked at their frozen comrade—and that was all the distraction Chillblaine needed, as he fired another blue beam outside, this time with better aim and accuracy, and promptly froze two more guards on the spot with a wide-arcing shot. Before the rest could react, the beam was turned in their direction, and all of them got frozen even as a couple of them turned to flee. "Well, that takes care of all the opposition to my campaign for today," Chillblaine announced. "Time to head on out of here."

OOOOO

_Sheesh, this is utterly stupid…first I slipped all over the floor because of the ice, and now I'm stuck in my very own ice coffin. It's so cold in here…probably not as cold as it should be, since it feels like the suit's providing its own warmth to keep me somewhat comfy, but it's still cold here…but it probably won't be frostbite that kills me anyway, but the fact that it's so tight in here…no air…no way to move…just the fact that it's cold is only an extra jab. Brr…_

So ran Flash's thoughts as he lay encased in the ice Chillblaine had formed around him. _Shivering beneath my skin…if I could actually move to rub my whole body and get a little warmer…_

Beneath his cowl, his eyes narrowed slightly. _Movement. Rubbing hands together. Warmth. I wonder…_

He tried to shift any way he could within the ice, but it was a tight fit around him. Undeterred, he tried to move his head, shoulders and fingers—still no dice. But still he kept moving whatever he thought might move. _If I keep this up as fast as I can go…even if my extremities can't move, maybe flexing my muscles will do the trick._

Increasing his speed, he moved his shoulders up and down, his head from side to side, and his fingers back and forth, little by little, by scant percentages of inches. _This ice hasn't completely closed up all the spaces between itself and my suit…so I can use my speed to vibrate what I can move…if I keep it up…then…_

**Crack.**

That was a welcome sound. He kept vibrating what could move.

_Pop-pop-crack-crack-pop!_

The ice broke off from one hand. He promptly vibrated his hand to get it as warm as possible, then pressed his fingers against his frozen thigh and moved them back and forth as fast as he could. Within moments, the ice was cracked and partially thawed off, and he kept vibrating.

_**Crack-crack-pop-pop-pop-pop-crack-crack-POP!**_

The ice broke off in sections here and there, and soon both arms were free. At once he vibrated both hands all over his iced body, until the remains of the ice cracked, thawed, and broke or melted off. "Whew!" Flash exhaled loudly, wrapping his arms around himself and swiftly rubbing himself all over to restore some warmth.

"Mmmph, mmph, mmph, mmmmph!"

Looking up, Flash beheld the shopper who was still trapped in ice with an ice-gag over his mouth. A split-second later he was standing next to the man, rubbing his hands at super-speed over the iced parts, until the ice broke off and the man was eventually freed. "Brrr! S-s-s-oooo c-c-c-cold!" he spoke through chattering teeth.

"Just rub your hands over yourself—you should warm up pretty soon," said Flash. "Where'd that Chillblaine guy go?"

"He—he left already," the man answered, his teeth chattering less now. "B-b-but he f-froze the guards outside."

"What?" Flash zipped to the door and beheld the frozen guards. "Oh, great…"

OOOOO

A little while later, the guards were all unfrozen thanks to Flash's thawing method, though now they were wrapped up in blankets in an effort to restore some warmth to themselves. Meanwhile, various police officers were in the area, taking statements from witnesses, while CSIs were examining the iced-out store as well as everywhere within the immediate vicinity.

Gail was sitting close by a nearby water fountain, watching the entire proceedings, when suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder; looking up, she beheld Laura's maternal expression. "Are you all right, dear?" the older woman inquired.

"All things considered, yes, thank you," said Gail. "But now my shopping trip's been ruined…"

"Yours and at least a dozen others', I'm sure," Laura said soothingly. "Which reminds me…I haven't seen Jay since I went into that store…"

"Hmm? Jay was here with you?" Gail queried.

"Oh, yes, I did forget to mention that, didn't I?" Laura remarked. "Well, I'd sent him to put up some of our groceries in the car…"

"Mom!"

Turning at the shout, Laura and Gail beheld Jay running toward them. "Are you all right?" Jay asked. "I saw this big icicle thing shoot up through the mall's roof while I was at the car, and then…oh, uh, hey, Gail. What happened, are you okay?"

"We're okay, thanks," Gail responded. "There was a thief here, he called himself Chillblaine, and he had this gun that could shoot ice beams, and…"

"And he got away," Laura finished. "Some of us saw him flee the mall a little while ago and disappear into the nearby boroughs. I wonder what happened—how did he manage to get away from the Flash?"

Jay's eyes narrowed as he remembered the outcome of the fight with Chillblaine. "That does seem pretty unexpected—you'd think a guy as fast as the Flash could wipe the floor with a _dreg_ like that. But more importantly, he didn't hurt you in any way, as far as I can see."

"Well…that's something to give thanks for in this Thanksgiving season," Gail said quietly.

"I think so, too," agreed Laura. "And I'm also thankful that Chillblaine didn't get to rob either of us before Flash came in…but I feel sorry for everyone else who was in the store, they lost their valuables to him…"

"So, what now?" asked Jay.

"Well, we can't continue shopping here after what just happened," replied Laura. "And I imagine you'll want to go home and get a little rest to recover from today's excitement, Gail. If you want, we can drop you home."

"Um…I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," Gail began.

"No, not at all," said Laura. "We're not in any big rush to get home ourselves, are we, Jay?"

"Eh, no, it's no hassle," Jay answered. "Besides, it'll save you the cab fare."

"Well…thank you, really," said Gail, and now a light blush appeared on her face. "It's so nice of you, and we've only just met, Mrs. West."

"It's my pleasure, Gail," Laura answered with a smile. "Now, let's get out of here, shall we?"

With that, the trio turned toward the mall's entrance…but Jay lingered a little behind the women, looking back at the icy damage Chillblaine had done. _This is the second time a villain's had me beaten,_ he thought to himself, recalling how his first fight with Shockwave had turned out. _Chillblaine…make no mistake, I'll find you! And this is gonna get settled…real soon!_

OOOOO

**END CHAPTER 15**

OOOOO

NEON MAJESTIC: Coming up next chapter—while taking Gail home, Jay and Laura get to see what the young woman's life at home is like! Meanwhile, reactions come in from different quarters as the news spreads throughout the city about Chillblaine's defeat of the Flash…and the Flash himself takes time to train for a rematch with the ice-wielding thief! Next chapter—_Chilly Reception!_

(Character commentary: In the comics, Chillblaine was a code-name used by several men who partnered with the Golden Glider, Captain Cold's sister, who outfitted them with her brother's equipment one after another to serve as her accomplices during her crime sprees, and to take the fall whenever such sprees failed. The men chosen for the role never had their real names revealed, and all but one were dull-witted and easily manipulated; the sole exception figured it out, played up to it, and eventually killed the Glider; Captain Cold later tracked him down and killed him in revenge. The costume that this story's Chillblaine wears is a variation of the comic book Chillblaine's costume, which was worn by the character in an alternate timeline, with the hooded jacket being my own addition; this story's Chillblaine also goes by the real name Denton Wynters, the surname being Captain Cold's surname in the 1990 live-action _The Flash_ TV show.)


End file.
